The Kids from Yesterday
by Miss Grace O'Malley
Summary: Darcy Lewis was born in 1917 - the same year as James Buchanan Barnes and a year before Steven Grant Rogers. Growing up with a pair of hooligans tends to keep a girl on her toes and Darcy is definitely up to the task. Soul mates, back alley fights, and newspapers are what keep her going. Take a trip to Brooklyn with Darcy and her boys. (Part 1 of the I Saw the Light Series)
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: All recognizable characters/places/plot lines belong to their rightful owners. No infringement is intended. No money is being made by this story._**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 1_**

 _"I saw the light, I saw the light._

 _No more darkness, no more night."_

 _I Saw the Light – Hank Williams_

 _August 15, 1917 – Richford, New York – Stark Residence_

"Elizabeth, we can't keep her."

"And why not? She's our daughter! She's – "

"A girl," Howard Stark Sr finished bitterly, looking down at the small dark-haired bundle swaddled in his wife's arms. "She'll never amount to anything in my line of work. We'll be lucky to have her married off to a proper suitor when she's of age. Her dowry alone would be – "

Blue eyes looked up at the man, a small sniffle away from full-blown tears. It had been a nasty shock to find out the baby they had been expecting was a twin. A beautiful, porcelain baby girl. But the world needed strong men, not delicate flowers that were _girls_.

"You want to give her away," Elizabeth realized softly, dragging her index finger down the baby's plump cheek. Fascination overwhelmed her when her daughter blinked up at her with wide eyes.

Howard grunted in response, looking down at the bassinet that held his heir. Howard, named aptly for his father of course, was fast asleep and sucking on his fist as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. A girl would just complicate things. Stark Industries was just starting to get up and running and two children would be too much to look over.

Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed. "Frankton will take her to the orphanage in the city."

"She already has her words," she said quietly. " _Two_ sets of them. They say the same thing – "

"Her words aren't our concern."

* * *

 _August 16, 1917 – New York City, New York_

He knew it was a bad idea to let her go with him. Mr. Stark had given strict orders that the babe be separated from her mother, but he couldn't deprive Miss Elizabeth of saying goodbye.

"This will do, Louis."

The Model T crept to a stop in front of the Hebrew Orphan Asylum and idled.

The short blonde exited the car, securing the bundled child to her chest, clutching her tightly. It was a whirlwind of pain knowing that her child was going to grow up without a family, but Howard simply wouldn't budge. A Stark, a _Stark_ , was being cast aside in favor of the other and it made no sense to anyone but the one doing the casting.

"My sweet little girl," Elizabeth cooed, smiling at the slumbering infant. "You will do great things with your life. You may not be a Stark by name, but you are by _blood_. And Starks never give up, baby."

Before she thought better of it, she asked Frankton for a pen and notebook, which he fumbled for longer than either cared to admit. When she had it in hand, she ripped a page out of the binding and wrote something short on it before pinning it to the front of the infant's blanket.

"Good luck, Darcy Lewis."

* * *

 _September 13, 1922 – New York City, New York – The Hebrew Orphan Asylum_

Small feet scurried across the floor and the small girl struggled to pull on her threadbare socks. The cold was starting to creep into the old concrete building and, not for the first time, she longed to have a blanket warm enough to sustain the chill. It was a weird life that she lived in the orphanage, but she made do.

A simple tug to her sleeves and they covered the words swirling around both wrists. Mrs. Edgewater had explained soul marks to her before, but she thought it was silly. How could someone find the one other person that matched their words? Ridiculous.

A look out the window told her that it was nearly time for supper and the thought of broth with a stick of celery was less than appealing seeing as that's what she'd eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner all week.

Forcing her too-small shoes on – the only ones that actually fit were her ballet shoes and they were getting so worn that it hurt to dance - she puttered about the room for a few moments before she yanked open the door and careened down the stairs.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Aw, Mrs. Edgewater, please? The streetlights will go out soon if I don't play now. I finished all my chores and – "

"There are dishes in the sink, Darcy. Hop to it and we'll see about going out to play."

Darcy grumbled to herself as she trudged into the kitchen. The privileges weren't the same for her as they were for the boys. Dishes, cooking, laundry – that was what she and the other girls got to do instead of playing in the streets until the gaslights came on. The only way out if you were a girl was to get a job, but no one wanted to hire a mouthy five-year-old.

Her stepstool was already next to the sink and she groaned. From the window above the sink, she had the perfect view of the boys playing in the back alley in the fading sun. The dishes were already soaped up and she bit her tongue as she scrubbed each and every one of them until the light disappeared completely and the rickety orphanage was alive again with noise.

When supper rolled around it was a subdued affair, for her anyway. She refused to do anything but gnaw at her celery stick. The broth was handed off to one of the younger boys that she knew wasn't getting enough to eat and she disappeared into her shared room upstairs after merely a quarter of an hour.

Her roommates had been adopted a few weeks ago and she was still trying to get used to the lack of noise. They had been twins and she envied how it must feel to always have someone with you when all she'd known had been loneliness.

Thoughts swirled around her head late into the night and she barely realized she was still dressed to go out. Sitting up from the cheap blankets that cushioned the hard floor that she slept on, she switched on her gaslight in the corner of the room and set to work on prying off the small shoes she'd jammed her feet in earlier. Sometimes, when the food was bad or the weather was too cold, she got angry at all the kids who had food to eat and a bed to sleep on. What it would be like to have clothes that fit and to be told by a doctor that she was healthy as a horse! Not a cause for worry.

Her head jerked up as her door opened and closed, a man suddenly on her side of it.

"Who the hell are you? What do you want?"

"I saw the light – "

"I'll scream. I'll scream so loud that Mrs. Edgewater will hear and she'll come a runnin' down here!"

"I saw the light," he repeated, shaking his head at her blank look. "'Neath the door? It's pretty late, ya know. Shouldn't ya be sleepin'?"

Her mind sputtered. She could practically feel the words burning against her wrist. _Her_ words. That _he'd_ said.

"What's your name, doll?"

"D-Darcy," she stuttered, standing up and cringing when her feet pinched horribly.

"Name's Sean, but near ery'one calls me Spot," he answered, holding out his hand. She stared at it for a moment before he pulled it back with a shrug. "You said Mrs. Edgewater? She still 'round? I needed to speak with her, but I guess it can wait."

"What ya need her for?"

He shrugged, taking a seat on the hard floor. "I work with th' papers in Brooklyn and they're lookin' for some newsies to hand 'em out. Got anyone in mind, doll? Need to be able to handle themselves down there."

"I can sell papers," she said eagerly.

"Never seen a doll sell papers," he shook his head as he chuckled. "'Sides, gotta get Mrs. Edgewater to agree with that. And ya'd need a pair of shoes that fit."

Her feet shuffled involuntarily. Her voice was small when she spoke again. "There's not a lot to choose from here."

"I was in an orphanage when I was younger," he said, his blue eyes staring into hers. "I know it ain't no picnic. I was snatched up when I was fifteen by a nice enough couple. You're, what, five? Six?"

"I'm five," she replied, "But I'm real smart. I can sell papers like no other, I'm bettin' and – "

"Hold your horses, gotta run it by Mrs. Edgewater, doll. She'll decide. Besides, ya'd have to get t' Brooklyn and that's a long walk for someone your size. I s'pose I could walk ya; gotta get up early to get the papers anyway." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and she just noticed the stubble adorning his jaw.

He was a cute one. His eyebrows are arched perfectly and he had a dimple in his chin like the guys they drew for the advertisements. And he was tall, a lot taller than her and bigger. A checkered shirt was haphazardly done up and he had red suspenders holding up a pair of khaki pants, not that they matched, mind you.

"I'll see what I can do, doll," he finally said. "Looks like ya need a few extra bucks 'round here, anyway. Ya got a bed?" She pointed to her pile of thin blankets and he shook his head. "I'll make sure ya have something better to sleep on. And shoes that won't squish your feet."

"So, I can sell papers?"

"I'm workin' on it. By the first of the year, we'll see."

When he stood, she rushed him. Small arms wrapped around his waist and he chuckled before he hugged her back.

"Thank ya, Spot."

"Don't go thankin' me yet, doll. Nothin's for sure."

* * *

 _February 21, 1923 - Brooklyn, New York_

Puffs of white air escaped her mouth as she breathed in excitement. Her hands were warm in the gloves that Spot had given her earlier. Not to mention the new shoes and jacket. Both were a few sizes too big, but he assured her that she'd grow into them. Her heart got fluttery when she thought about him spending money on her, but now she had a job! She could sell papers just as well as the next newsie, she was sure of it.

And once she had enough money, she could actually go to school to learn ballet instead of standing across the street and watching other girls take classes and then practicing what she'd seen back in her room.

"Now, doll, I'll meet ya by the market when you're all outta papers, okay? If you're not there when I get off a work, I'll come find ya over here."

She gave him a dazzling smile and nodded, looking over the two stacks of papers he'd given her.

"It's a penny a paper, doll. Ya got about three bucks worth of papers there."

He left her on the corner, being sure to tell the owner of the corner shop that she was there by herself, and rushed off to get to his own job.

Brooklyn was busy, but not as busy as the city. People were running everywhere and it was loud and Darcy thought she would get swallowed up in the sea of people.

She could do this. She could sell papers.

Raising a shaking hand, she clutched the paper tightly as she began to wail.

"Papers! Get your papers! A penny a paper! What's President Harding going to do next?"

She was _swarmed_. People were handing her nickels – _nickels_ – and only taking a single paper! They didn't ask for change, they didn't take more than one – she was turning a profit bigger than expected.

"Mister, this is a _quarter_ – "

"Keep the change, doll. Get yourself a candy bar or somethin'."

The papers were flying out of her hands and the change purse that Spot had given her was getting heavier and heavier. Time was going by quicker than she thought, the sun reaching the middle of the sky when she finally ran out of papers. She wiped her hand over her face, a bit bewildered to feel that she was smiling. Mrs. Edgewater had said that being a newsie wasn't a job for a little girl, but she proved her wrong.

After Darcy tucked away the change purse, she followed the signs to the market she was supposed to meet Spot at. She hadn't told him that he's said her words and she had been wondering if she should. Soul mates and bonds were weird things and he was so much older than her. He might stop talking to her if she said anything so she decided to keep her trap shut.

"Who ya lookin' for?"

She looked up at the counter of the store, meeting the sharp gaze of a man that looked kind of young. His hair was dark and she could tell that if he hadn't combed it back that it would reach his shoulders easily.

"Spot, mister. He told me to meet him here."

The man appraised her for a moment before nodding jerkily. "Conlon!"

It was only a second before Spot came traipsing in from the back room, a line of dirt on his cheek and a scowl on his face. "Yeah, Mr. Barnes? Oh, hey, Darce. Ya need some help?" His face had softened when he saw her and she nearly melted into a puddle.

"Your shift's over, Conlon. Be back here at eight sharp in the morning."

"Thanks, Mr. Barnes." Spot folded up his apron and slung it behind the counter before he shrugged on his jacket and shuffled them both out of the market.

"I didn't get ya in trouble, did I?" She asked when they were about halfway down the block. The last thing she wanted was to cost him his job.

He shook his head, his dirty blond hair shaking out around him. "Nah. I can only work a few hours a day anyway. He's been payin' me under the table for the past few months and I don't want to overstay my welcome if it means I can keep gettin' a steady paycheck." He slung his arm over her shoulders and she burrowed into his warmth unconsciously. The winter air was nipping at her cheeks and he'd noticed. "Now, did ya need help carryin' the papers back? I know it's cold. Maybe we shoulda picked a different day for ya – "

"I sold all my papers, Spot! I did real good just like I said I would!"

He stopped short, nearly causing her to fall on her butt. He stared dumbly at her. "All of 'em? You didn't leave any with the fella tha' runs the corner store?"

"All of 'em," she said, nodding eagerly. The change purse felt like lead in her pocket and she pulled it out and handed it over to him. He unbuttoned it and peered inside, his jaw slack.

"That's a lot more than three bucks, doll."

"They told me to keep the change."

"From a _quarter_?"

"Told me to buy a candy bar!"

Spot whistled low and pocketed the purse, a smile on his face. "We'll get you more papers tomorrow, doll. You're pretty damned good at this."

" _Language_!"

* * *

 _April 10, 1928 – Brooklyn, New York_

"Get your papers! A penny a paper! Henry Ford has somethin' to say about Prohibition? You wanna hear it? Buy a paper!"

"Henry Ford really in this paper, doll? Or are you just rattlin' the cage to up your sales?" A man asked, digging through his pocket for change.

"Have I ever lied?" She asked back, a grin tugging at her lips. She watched as he shook his head and produced a nickel for the paper, waiving off her attempt to give him change.

It had been five years since she started selling papers and she was doing just as good now as she was doing then. Spot had stuck another newsie on the same corner the day after she had done so well and the kid had barely managed to sell a dollar worth of papers. It all came down to the fact that she was a girl and men didn't like seeing girls out on the street. That's why they were so generous with buying her papers and she had decided to milk it for all it was worth.

Spot had worked out a deal with the guy that owned the corner store so that Darcy could keep extra papers in there and retrieve them when she was running out. She was making a profit of about ten dollars a day which she and Spot split at her insistence. It was crazy to think she'd been doing so well.

Mrs. Edgewater tutored her on the weekends so she wasn't missing out on school, but Darcy sometimes felt like there was more to the world than selling papers. Spot had gotten into college about a year before and he still worked part-time at the market, but he didn't really need to when he and Darcy were splitting the profits from the paper. She thought that it gave him something to do so he wouldn't do anything stupid instead.

When she was all out of papers, she pocketed her change purse and made her way towards the market, eager to get home.

* * *

 _April 11, 1928 – Brooklyn, New York_

Darcy was running late. On Wednesdays, Spot had to work an early shift at the market and that meant she had to walk to Brooklyn by herself. But Mrs. Edgewater had overslept and that meant that she was late to sell papers. When she finally got to the corner store and hauled out the papers Spot had left behind, she noticed that someone else was on her corner, yelling about papers.

Growling to herself, she turned on her heel and started back to the corner store. A squeal of surprise tore from her as she was yanked backwards, falling on her bottom in the process.

"What in th' world." She cursed as she stood up, brushing the dust off of her trousers and trying to find her hat that had somehow fallen off.

"I saw the light – "

"What's th' matter with you?" She asked the boy that stood directly behind her, her hat in his hand. "Am I not allowed to cross the street?"

"I saw the light change. Didn't want ya to get run over."

Darcy looked up at the stoplight and noticed it was green. Sighing, she shook out her curls and thanked him. "Guess I wasn't paying attention. What're ya gawkin' at?"

She looked him over, noticing that his hair was just a bit lighter than hers but he was just as pale. His eyes were a lighter blue, too, and she simply cocked her head at him.

"Name's James," he said, his voice cracking before he coughed violently.

She gave him a gap-toothed grin and responded in kind. "Lewis. Good to meet ya, James. Shouldn't ya be in school?"

He shrugged, picking up the bundle of papers she'd dropped. "My dad needs some help at the store. I might go in later if I have the time."

"Well, good luck to ya. I've gotta get these papers sold."

He shuffled. "Yeah. Nice meetin' ya, Lewis."

* * *

Standing on a different corner brought different people. She managed to do well – not as good as she hoped – but it was a promise to herself that she'd never be late again. No matter what she made, she was always sure to give Spot five dollars. That way, he had consistent money and was able to save up. She'd been saving money since about a month after she started selling papers. She had bought herself a bed and some new clothes before deciding to save it up. At the rate she was going, she'd have enough money to go to the fancy ballet school in Russia. She might stand a chance of being a ballerina if she made it that far.

Mindful not to skip, she scurried down to the market in search of her partner in crime. Mr. Barnes smiled down at her when he saw her come in and yelled for Spot.

"Afternoon, darlin'. Sean'll be along shortly, I'm sure." A familiar head of dark hair caught her eye and the older man chuckled. "Darcy, this is my son – "

"James," she said, a wry smile on her lips. "He saved me from gettin' run over today."

The boy ducked his head in embarrassment as his father's chest puffed out in pride. Spot appeared from the back room and grinned at her.

"Ready, doll?"

She nodded, taking Spot's hand as she threw over her shoulder, "Nice to see ya again, James!"

* * *

 _December 18, 1928 – New York City, New York – The Hebrew Orphan Asylum_

"What d'ya mean you're leaving?" Darcy's eyes were as big as saucers and she was staring at Spot as if he'd grown two heads.

He looked down and shuffled his feet. "I signed up for th' army. Y'know they're always recruitin'. I gotta make a name for myself and since I finished school, no one's really hirin' – "

"Sean Conlon ya are _not_ joining the army!"

"Ya don't really have a say, doll."

In a matter of moments it was as if her entire world was careening downwards. She'd spent nearly six years with Spot and now he was leaving her. _Leaving her_. He was her soul mate! He wasn't supposed to leave her!

"You have my words." It was quiet, but full of meaning and Spot stood stock-still.

He looked conflicted. "Darce – "

"You. Have. My. _Words_."

Spot sighed and lifted up his the sleeve of his shirt. "I don't have words, doll. They disappeared a few years ago." His fingers traced absently over the white tinted words that ran down his forearm and she gasped in horror. She was about to bolt, he could tell. Kneeling on the hard floor in her room, he took her face in his hands and brushed the tears away with his thumbs. "I might have said your words, Darcy, but your words aren't _mine_. Just a coincidence. But the fella that matches ya is out there somewhere. I'm bettin' that he's waiting on ya to find him."

Her lower lip trembled and she threw her arms around his neck, crying in earnest. "Please don't go. I don't know what I'll do without ya."

Fingers trailed up her back and she tried not to cry more. "The folks that took me in are gonna come get ya soon. They agreed to adopt ya, Darce. And one of th' newsies is gonna bring papers to th' corner store on Fridays so ya can keep sellin' 'em. It's gonna be okay, doll. You got James to look after ya, too. You'll go to that ballet school that ya been savin' for. You'll be safe."

* * *

 _January 14, 1929 – Brooklyn, New York – Dorsett Residence_

Darcy _abhorred_ school. The itchy clothes and heavy books and all the stuck up kids. She missed her trousers and knit hats, but Mrs. Dorsett said that it wasn't ladylike to wear trousers. She had to wear shoes with little buckles on them instead of ones that laced up and she _hated_ it.

Her studies weren't a problem. Mrs. Edgewater had tutored her well enough that she had integrated just fine in public school. Grades came easy to her and she worked hard on everything she turned in.

"Darcy, don't tell me that you were sent home _again_."

She groaned, smacking her head against the wood of the kitchen table. Being sent home was becoming a normal occurrence all because she couldn't keep her mouth shut, mostly.

"Darcy."

"I didn't mean to hit him," she whined, looking up through the curtain that her hair had caused when her head landed on the table. "Johnny Doyle thought it'd be funny to pull my hair again. I told him to stop! He didn't wanna listen to me."

Mrs. Dorsett sighed and sat down at the kitchen table across from her new adopted daughter. "You can't hit everyone that's mean to you, Darcy. The world doesn't work like that. Have you considered that Johnny likes you? That that's why he teases you?"

"He doesn't have my words," she mumbled, thumping her head once more against the cool wood.

"You can't wait your whole life for someone to say your words, Darcy. You'll forget how to live if you do." The bite in the woman's voice caused her to sit up.

Mr. and Mrs. Dorsett were nice enough people. They'd taken Spot in, after all. Darcy didn't see much of Mr. Dorsett – he ran a printing company in the city – but she spent a lot of time with Mrs. Dorsett. The older woman was nice in her own way, but she was very opinionated when it came to Darcy. She wanted her to have all the advantages she could in life and that meant no slacking off _ever_. Spot had been able to leave for the army only when he could convince his adoptive mother that there was someone to fill his place, after all.

"I just…can't I have a tutor instead? Can't you tutor me?"

"That isn't an option," Mrs. Dorsett bristled, her red hair seeming to spark a little. "You need to learn proper socialization skills that will only come from interacting with other people."

"I interact with other people when I sell papers," she muttered.

"But selling papers isn't a job for a young lady. Being a…a _newsie_ is a boy's job. I'm letting you sell papers on Friday, isn't that enough?"

"Yes, Mrs. Dorsett," she intoned, wanting this conversation to be over.

The woman nodded to herself. "Good. Now about this weekend…"

* * *

 _January 21, 1929 – Brooklyn, New York_

Darcy wasn't sure what she was thinking as she made her way to the market that Spot used to work at. Part of her was hoping that Mr. Barnes needed help and the other part was hoping she and James could come to an arrangement about papers. She'd kept her nose to the ground for a week after punching Johnny Doyle, but it hadn't done any good. Everything that the teacher was teaching was stuff she'd learned over a year ago. It was utterly ridiculous. School standards needed to be readdressed, obviously.

The bell above the door tinkled as she walked in, making her cringe at the sound. Apparently stealth was not an option.

"Darcy?"

"Hi, Mr. Barnes," she greeted the man with a puzzled look on his face. "I was actually wonderin' if ya needed any help 'round the store or anythin'."

Surprise flooded his face and he stumbled a bit over his words. "Well, Bucky's been sellin' papers in the mornin' and I haven't had anyone to stock the shelves since Conlon enlisted. Bucky's good at it, but – "

"I can always take his place sellin' papers. I'm good at it. Me and Spot used to split the profits and I can have one o'the boys bring th' papers every day." At first she was puzzled by who Bucky was, but she'd figured out that he meant James. Weird.

Mr. Barnes fixed her with a stern look. "And what about school? Your parents okay with you skippin'?"

"Are you okay with Bucky skippin'?" She countered, her hands on her hips.

Chuckling, his face turned into a smile. "We'll see if we can work somethin' out."

* * *

 **I'm very excited to see what you all think about this. This has been close to my heart since January. As of now, this story is the backstory to the latter parts of this series. I've written the first part in its entirety and I'm beta-ing it and it will be posted as soon as each chapter is finished. I hope you all enjoy.**

 **~Grace**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _March 30, 1929 – Brooklyn, New York_

It was hard lying to Mrs. Dorsett. Mr. Barnes had accepted her offer without fanfare and every morning Darcy found herself standing on the corner and waving papers in the air. Normally on the night of Mrs. Dorsett's knitting club, she stayed late at the market to help Bucky price things and restock the shelves. The same deal applied to Bucky when it came to the papers – five dollars lined his pocket every day that she was able to work as long as he brought the papers to the corner store.

Mr. Barnes had tried to pay her for the nights she spent at the market, but each time she waved him off, insisting that _he_ was doing _her_ a favor instead of the other way around.

It was way past closing time and she should've been heading home, but a knock on the door caught her attention.

"Ya wanna get that? Pro'ly someone forgot somethin' earlier."

She nodded, "Yeah, I got it, Buck."

Darcy wasn't sure when she'd shortened his name, but it became more of a habit. She tended to call him James when she was mad at him, though, and he knew then that he was in trouble.

Hauling herself up from her spot in front of the canned beans, she walked stiff-legged to the door and hauled it open. A skinny blond kid stood in front of her with a confused face that she was sure mirrored her own.

"Can I help you?" Darcy asked, a bit of a bite to her voice.

"I-I saw the light – " he started before he began coughing violently.

Alarm welled up in her and she was beside him in a second, beating against his back as he struggled to breath.

"Steve?" Bucky's head popped out of the market and his eyes were big. "What're ya doin' here?"

When the blond, Steve, regained full use of his lungs, he stuttered out, "Saw the light on in th' store. Wanted to come by and see if ya needed anythin'."

Darcy ushered Steve into the store, mindful of how frail he was. Granted, she was still on the less than healthy side, but this kid looked like he was on death's door.

"Steve, this is my…friend, Darcy," Bucky said awkwardly. "Darce, this is Steve. He lives a few blocks over from me."

She smiled at him. "Nice to meet ya, Stevie."

"Likewise… _doll_."

She turned an unflattering shade of pink and looked down, pulling her sleeves down her arms. He'd said her words. _Steve_ had said her _words_. Should she ask him if he had words? She'd just met him…that was probably considered bad etiquette.

"Well, I should probably get home," she finally said, wanting the tension in the room to go away. "I'll see ya on Monday, Bucky."

"See ya Monday, Darce."

* * *

"You okay, punk?" Bucky asked, watching Steve closely.

Steve nodded, his chest feeling heavy in a way he wasn't used to. She – _Darcy_ – was something else and he'd only spent about ten minutes with her. And she'd said his words. The words that were curled around his left wrist.

"Steve. Hey, ya sure you're okay in there?"

"Darcy…she's – "

"Something, ain't she? She helps out 'round the store. Remember Conlon? She's a friend of his from the city."

The blond shook his head as if he were trying to clear her from his mind. It wasn't every day that you met a girl that said your words.

"Ya like her, don't ya? That why ya called her doll?"

Deciding to bite the proverbial bullet, he rasped out, "She said my words, Bucky."

"Ya got words?"

Steve unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and pushed it up.

 _Can I help you?_

Bucky whistled low. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Guess I always thought I'd be havin' an asthma attack or somethin' when I heard 'em. Didn't know I'd be outta breath from huffin' it over here as soon as my ma left." Steve grinned stupidly, looking at the words in reverence. He sobered for a second before he asked, "Do ya have any?"

Bucky snorted and pushed up his own sleeve on his right arm, the writing was slightly darker than his skin color.

 _What's the matter with you_?

"Figure she's a handful. I heard Darcy say it when I first met her, but she didn't seem like what I had said was anythin' special so I let it go. 'Sides, maybe she's all yours, punk."

"Jerk."

* * *

 _April 13, 1929 – Brooklyn, New York – Dorsett Residence_

"You've been lying to me, Darcy!"

"Well, I couldn't tell you the truth!" She yelled back. Her cheeks were becoming pink and she was trying not to scream.

Truthfully, Darcy had been waiting for the other shoe to drop and today happened to be the day. The school had sent a letter home and, instead of intercepting it as she'd hoped to, Mrs. Dorsett had gotten to it first.

Mrs. Dorsett sighed and threw the letter down on the table between them. "You've been with us for over four months now, Darcy, and we're still at square one. You're not opening up or letting us in and it's hard to guess what you want – "

"I want the freedom that I had! I've never had a family!" She exploded, resentment taking the driver's seat of her rage. "Mrs. Edgewater was the closest I had to a parent and she let me do what I wanted to do. I sold papers and she tutored me and I did chores. I didn't need to sit and be seen but not heard. I didn't ask to be adopted!"

As soon as the words were out, she wished she could take them back. Mrs. Dorsett's face had become a sea of sadness and she wanted to fix it.

"Mrs. Dorsett, I didn't mean – "

She held up her hand, shaking as she took a deep breath. "I'm going to meet at the Jones' house for our knitting group. I expect you to behave while I'm gone."

* * *

 _Thump._

 _Thump._

 _Thump_.

Darcy kicked the empty box rhythmically. As soon as Mrs. Dorsett had left, she practically ran to the market. She wasn't sure how Bucky was supposed to make it better, but she knew that he could.

"You finish stockin' those?" Bucky asked, motioning to the box the canned beans had been occupying.

"Yup," she said, popping the p.

He nodded. "There's a bunch of apples in the back that you can put out if ya want."

She disappeared into the back and shuffled some boxes around as her mind wandered.

The thought of going back to school was appalling, but going back to the orphanage seemed even worse. Since moving in with the Dorsetts, Darcy hadn't had to worry about anything like shoes or clothes or food. She had her own bed in her own room and she was able to decorate it any way that she wanted. It was liberating, but she still wanted to do things for herself. Selling papers was something that she did _all by herself_. She'd saved up enough money to go to school and she knew as soon as she was able to that she was going to go to school for ballet. She'd never really stopped practicing; she'd just run out of new material. She wasn't able to go to the dance studio and watch the other girls anymore since she lived away from the city.

"You okay, Darce?" Bucky asked when she walked back into the front of the store, arms laden with apples.

"Yeah, just thinkin'," she said. "Mrs. Dorsett found out I've been skippin' school and she's mad. I really need a tutor or somethin'."

"My ma works as a tutor before her shifts at the hospital," Steve's voice said, nearly causing her to jump out of her skin. "I'm sure she could tutor ya. I can ask."

Laying down the apples on the counter, she sighed. "How much does she charge?"

The blond looked flustered and he stumbled over his words in an attempt to get them out.

"I'm sure Mrs. Rogers can talk to ya 'bout that," Bucky said, saving his friend from making a fool of himself. "I can walk ya over to his place tomorrow."

"I'll meet ya here, Buck."

* * *

 _April 14, 1929 – Brooklyn, New York_

"Are ya sure we're not going to wake her up? It's noon and she has to work tonight," Darcy fretted as the walked to Steve's house.

Bucky waved his hand in dismissal. "She was up this mornin' for church. Steve said she barely sleeps on the weekends so she can spend some time with the punk, anyway."

She grinned to herself. She liked that Steve had a friend like Bucky. Steve was too…weak to take care of himself sometimes and Bucky was practically attached to his hip when he wasn't at the store. Apparently, they'd met when Steve was running his mouth to some of the older kids and Bucky had beat the living shit out of them after they'd already done a number on the blond. When she found out, she'd given them both a tongue-lashing. And then congratulated them – or rather _Bucky_ – for winning.

When they arrived at a rundown apartment building, worry blossomed in her chest.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he said, nudging her up the stairs to the door. "Steve's dad died in the war and Mrs. Rogers has been scraping by with working nights."

Mentally, she started going through what she should offer to pay Steve's mom. If she managed almost ten dollars a day with papers and gave half to Bucky, then she could easily give half of her share to Mrs. Rogers. That would end up being almost fifty dollars a month for them and she was sure that would help out.

"Don't be such a girl," Bucky teased her as he knocked on the door.

* * *

"Ma, are ya sure ya even have time to tutor anyone?"

Mrs. Rogers smiled tiredly at her son. "This girl is your soul mate you think, right?"

"She said my words – "

"And you like her, yes?"

"Ma, she's _so pretty_ – "

"Then, yes, I have time. I made time for the neighbor's daughter, I can make time for the girl that might be the one you end up marrying."

Steve groaned, smacking his head against the rickety kitchen table. "They were payin' you like five bucks a week, Ma. I don't know what she can afford – "

"Steven Grant Rogers, cut that out." Mrs. Rogers knew her son could get worked up over little things and it didn't do any good. "If this girl's important to you, then she's important to me, too. Now, go get the door. Someone knocked a second ago."

* * *

 _April 26, 1929 – Brooklyn, New York_

It had taken some time for Mrs. Dorsett to calm down, but when she finally did, Darcy laid out her plan. She was going to sell papers in the morning and work at the market in the afternoons and go to Steve's afterwards for a few hours so Mrs. Rogers could tutor her. Darcy also told her adoptive mother about her aspirations to become a ballerina ( _Why haven't you told me before now? had been the indignant reply_ ) and that she had been looking at a school in Russia for a few years now.

Mrs. Dorsett, to Darcy's surprise, had taken everything in stride, happy that she'd thought everything through. She had a job and a plan and she didn't want to mess it up.

Spot was scheduled to come home on a temporary leave since he completed his training and she was so excited. She'd sold all the papers she could get her hands on and paid Bucky before heading to Steve's house.

"Thanks for doin' this early, Mrs. Rogers," she said when the short blonde woman let her into the house. Darcy really liked the house because of how homey it was. She could see why Steve was such a happy kid, having a mom like his. It just pained her that he was so sick.

Mrs. Rogers had tried to explain about Steve's conditions – plural because obviously this kid didn't do anything half-assed – and it just made her head spin. Now, whenever she was around Steve, she watched him like a hawk to make sure he wasn't just going to drop dead. Steve joked that when he was born his body decided it hated him and Darcy didn't think that was one bit funny.

"Of course, Darcy. Your brother's coming home, isn't he?"

Her head bobbed and she felt a smile on her face. "He's been gone since December. I can't wait to see him." Mrs. Rogers got a sad look on her face and she remembered what Bucky had told her about Steve's dad. "Oh, I'm sorry. I know soldiers hafta be – "

"It's fine, Darcy. It's just been Steve and I for a while now." She paused and picked up the math book they'd been working on the day before. "Let's get started, shall we? Now, this theorem suggests…"

* * *

 _May 1, 1929 – Brooklyn, New York – Dorsett Residence_

"Spot!" Darcy careened down the stairs in record time, leaping onto the bulk that was, quite possibly, her favorite person in the world. Arms wrapped around her and squeezed her so tightly that she thought she might burst.

"I missed ya so much, Darce! Look at how big you've gotten! And all those curls! What a gorgeous gal." He smiled as he pulled away from her, tugging a curl playfully as he set her down. "Ya been lookin' after yourself? Not gettin' into too much trouble, right?"

She nodded solemnly. "Sellin' papers and workin' at the market. And gettin' tutored, too! I had too much trouble in school."

"Sean? Oh, Sean! I'm so glad you're home!" Mrs. Dorsett rushed the man, barely letting him get a leg into the house. Not that Darcy had been any better.

She took a moment to realize he was dressed in uniform and it made her just a bit uncomfortable. Darcy liked to think of him as the scrappy kid that showed up at the orphanage in the middle of the night with red suspenders, not a man that knew how to kill another man with a gun.

"Only gonna be home for a few days. I got my deployment dates. I won't be back for awhile."

Her heart sunk and she lunged back into his arms, fighting tears as her lip quivered. "Don't go, Spot. I just got ya back."

"C'mon Darcy-baby. Let's go get somethin' to eat."

* * *

Darcy dipped her fries into the chocolate shake she and Spot were sharing and pushed the rest of her burger towards him, knowing that he wouldn't hesitate to scarf it down.

"Tell me 'bout the guy you've been writin' 'bout."

"I knew writin' ya letters was a bad idea."

He snorted and took a gulp of Coke. "Name's Steve, right? One of James' friends?"

She shrugged, "I guess so. He's kinda my friend now, too. He's really nice, Spot. And he said my words, too."

"Darce, ya know sayin' the words might not be anythin'."

"I know. Sometimes, I wish ya _were_ my soul mate. I think it'd be a lot easier."

Spot chuckled, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "I'm too old for ya, darlin'. Too old and too poor to keep up with a young thing like ya."

"You're twenty-four! Not nearly old – "

"And you're eleven, Darce. What's gonna happen when you're eighteen and ready to get married? I'll be in my thirties. It's definitely not gonna work, doll." He laughed again. "Maybe Steve will be the one for ya."

Darcy sobered up, her thoughts immediately going to how sick Steve was in general. Her lip caught between her teeth and she swirled the same fry around in the shake until it was soggy.

"Speak up, doll. What's goin' on in that head o'yours?"

Swallowing, she quietly said, "Steve's sick. A lot. I…I know ya said your words fade after your…after they die. But, what happens? Do ya ever think you're gonna find someone else?"

"I think I'll find someone without words, too," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe a girl that lost her soldier in the war. It happens damn near every day – "

" _Language_."

" – and if Steve does get sick, then at least ya met him, doll. Ya don't have to spend all your time wonderin' if he was as good as you made him up in your head."

She nodded. Steve was pretty great. Not that she knew much more about him other than the drawing his ma showed her and how he always tried to cheer her up if she had a rough day. He was the very definition of good while Bucky was the more likely of the two to rough something up. She couldn't imagine having one without the other and it made her question both of her soul marks. They said exactly the same thing; she'd figured it was just an accident and she'd been marked twice.

"Now, when am I gonna meet your new friend?"

"I have to drop by Steve's tonight to pay his ma for tutoring me. Wanna tag along?"

"Wouldn't miss it, doll."

* * *

" _That's_ Steve?"

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's him."

Spot seemed to struggle for a moment. It wasn't like him to keep his opinions to himself but she could tell that he was trying not to offend her. "He seems nice," he finally said weakly.

"I know he's small. And that he looks fragile. But he can take a punch like no other and he's really sweet. His ma is the best and as long as Steve gets all the medicine he needs, then there's nothin' to worry about."

"Ya like him?"

"I'm still learning 'bout him. But Bucky likes him and he's a good judge of character. I trust him. Both of 'em."

Spot slung his arm around her shoulders and smiled. "And I trust ya. Just know I'll still kick his skinny ass if he hurts ya."

* * *

 _September 19, 1929 – Brooklyn, New York_

They were inseparable. Had been for months and she knew it would turn into years. Darcy felt the same companionship with Steve and Bucky as she did with Spot, except sometimes she felt like it was a lot more. In the past months, she thought more and more about asking Steve what his words were, but she couldn't. What if they _did_ match? She still wanted to go to school. Still wanted to go to Russia and study ballet. Perform on stage and would Steve let her do that? Would he be able to go with her?

It all was one big question mark. Why would she know her future, anyway? Mrs. Dorsett was right when she said she couldn't let her words rule her life. She didn't want to forget how to live. She was too young to do anything about them, anyway.

"All stocked, Darce?"

"You bet," she replied, putting the last can on the shelf and turning to smile at Bucky. "We meetin' Steve tonight? Or is he still sick?"

Bucky shrugged. "I think he's better. He was at school today. We can grab a shake and take it up to 'im if you want."

Nodding enthusiastically, she plucked a quarter from her coin purse and they made their way to the malt shop near Steve's house.

* * *

 **What did you think? Let me know in the reviews!**

 **~Grace**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 _January 20, 1930 – Brooklyn, New York_

The stock market crash had taken its toll on New York. Papers were harder to sell and Darcy was lucky to clear five dollars on a good day. She compensated the difference with taking out of her savings that she kept rolled up in an old coffee tin under her bed. She worried that she'd run out of money, but the years had been good to her and she normally wasn't too frivolous. Her home life was fine; the Dorsetts were still financially stable, but the Barnes were struggling something awful.

That was one of the reasons she had to take money out of her savings. Bucky's ma didn't work and his pa ran the market, but that was it. They'd lost their daughter the winter before she'd met them to chicken pox and his ma had been a right mess since.

But Darcy was a fixer. If she thought her money could help them, then she would do everything in her power to make sure that they had enough. Bucky always put on such a brave face, but she noticed each day when he breathed a sigh of relief when he handed her his cut of the papers for the day. She'd known what it was like to survive on nothing and she didn't want that for him _or_ Steve.

The latter had been sick more often than not and needing more medicine. Mrs. Rogers had asked the hospital for an advance and they'd denied her. Darcy had come up with the money and gave it to her without hesitation, only causing the blonde woman to weep in thanks and swear that she would pay her back; Darcy wouldn't have any of that. She'd insisted that it was a gift.

Darcy was currently sitting in the printing house of the local paper, waiting for the morning's issue to be finished. Bucky was too tired from work and school – his mother _insisted_ that he go back so he had a chance of college – and he couldn't bring her papers to the corner store anymore. She didn't mind it too much. She just loathed getting up so early.

"How many ya want today, Lewis?"

She looked up at the man tying the papers and said, "Five hundred."

"Oh, goin' big today? Ya think this will sell?"

"I'll make sure it sells, Saul. I ain't ever brought any papers back, have I?"

He chuckled so hard that his belly shook like a plate of pudding. Hopping down from her perch on the stairs, she handed him the dollar for the papers and slung them over her shoulder. She'd sell these papers if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

"Papers! Get your papers, here! What's goin' on with the Young Plan? Is another war on the horizon? Find out! Papers! A penny a paper!"

Whenever she put a creative spin on what was happening with the paper, she found that she was swamped within seconds with men shoving coins at her without caring for change. Those days were always good days and today was shaping up to be the same.

The sun was nearly in the middle of the sky when she sold her last paper. The cold was wrecking havoc on the neighborhoods lately and she was thankful that she wasn't stuck in the orphanage anymore.

Pulling her scarf tighter around her neck, she walked as quick as she could to the market. A snowflake landed on the tip of her nose and she huffed in annoyance. She loved being inside on snowy days, not traipsing through the streets of Brooklyn.

She was still a few blocks from the market when she tripped on a rock that had been covered by the snow. Sprawling onto her hands and knees, she bit her lip against the pain that blossomed where she'd hit the ground.

"Darce! Hey, ya okay, doll?"

It hurt to move. She had no idea how she managed to nod her head and get back on her feet, but she did. Steve's concerned blue eyes met hers and she gave him a weak smile. "Why're ya home? Shouldn't ya be at school?"

Steve ignored her question and wrapped a skinny arm around her waist, doing his best to support her weight while trying not to fall. "You're bleedin'. Let me take ya home. My ma can patch ya up." A line creased between his eyebrows. It was endearing, really.

Darcy wondered how hard she smacked her head.

"We're both gonna fall if ya keep holdin' me like that."

He shook his head as a blush crept up his neck. "Gotta make sure ya can walk, doll. Wouldn't be seemly if I let ya fall."

* * *

"She's fine, Steve." His mother was always the voice of reason.

"But – "

"But nothing. Darcy only needed a few stitches," she said, cutting him off as she sat down at the kitchen table. "She'll be as good as new in a few weeks."

Seeing Darcy fall had been much more traumatizing than he'd ever admit. He'd let her lean on him all the way back to his house, just barely making it to his inhaler.

He swore to keep it in his pocket after that.

Steve hated his body. He hated how short and skinny he was. He hated that he couldn't eat ice cream or milkshakes. He hated that he was frail and holding his mother back. He hated that he couldn't help his girl walk a few blocks when she was _hurt_ without feeling like his lungs were going to collapse.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"Why does God hate me, Ma?" His voice sounded so defeated and broken.

"He doesn't hate you, baby. He wouldn't give you more than you could handle."

He sincerely hoped that was true.

* * *

"Pretty clean stitch job. Looks like it won't even leave a mark."

Darcy looked down at her skin through the tear in her trousers. She had been heartbroken when Mrs. Rogers had said that she needed stitches. Legs were the selling point with ballerinas; with damaged legs they wouldn't even look twice at her.

She shrugged. "Can't get into school with banged up legs. Your ma did a great job, Stevie."

Steve had volunteered to walk her back to the market – with his inhaler, thankfully – after she'd rested a bit. It was well beyond closing time when they'd finally arrived. Bucky had already stocked most of the shelves and the three of them were sitting around the till. Moments like these were hard to come by with the depression.

"School? What kinda school's lookin' at your legs?" Bucky's blue eyes were wide as saucers and she fought back a giggle.

"I wanna go to school for ballet – "

"You? In frilly, little dresses? Prancin' 'round a stage? C'mon, Darce."

She huffed. "What's wrong with dancin'? I _am_ a girl, ya know."

"But not _that_ kinda girl. Ya sell papers and work here and – "

"James Buchanan Barnes, just because I do all those things doesn't mean I'm any less of a girl!"

"I think you'd be a real pretty ballerina, Darcy."

"Thank _you_ , Stevie." She jerked her thumb back to point at Bucky. "Might want to tell this meathead that."

It was quiet for a moment before the brunet asked, "Ya goin' to the city for that?"

"There's a school in Russia that I've been lookin' at for a few years." She shrugged, a smile tugging at her lips. She'd only really told Spot and Mrs. Dorsett about her dreams. "It's expensive, but – "

" _Russia_?"

Two sets of blue eyes snapped to Steve, surprised at the outburst. He was looking panicky and a little unhinged. The air was thick with tension and he was rubbing his hands against his worn jeans. Why would he care where she went?

"It's one o'the best – "

"But leavin' Brooklyn? Goin' to a different country? Ya can't just up and leave us."

Darcy sighed, reaching out and taking Steve's hand in her right and Bucky's in her left. These boys had come to mean so much to her in a small amount of time and she couldn't picture her life without them. A spark of _something_ shot through her where they touched and she had to repress a shiver.

"You're my best friends. When I go away for school, we'll write. We'll keep in touch. I won't forget about either of ya," she vowed, squeezing their hands tightly.

These were her boys. She needed them and apparently they needed her, too.

* * *

 _August 15, 1933 – Brooklyn, New York_

"Careful, honey," Bucky cautioned, wrapping an arm around the waist that had suddenly thinned out before flaring into wide hips.

Darcy giggled and clung to him tighter. "It shouldn't be this cold, yet."

"Chill's a'comin' a bit earlier this year," he agreed, glaring down at the ice on the sidewalk as if it would melt it.

It had been a hell of a year for James Buchanan Barnes. He'd watched the underfed little girl that was his best friend turn into a young woman that had curves he ached to find his way around. Darcy was petite and stacked and he was chagrined to admit that he chased off more than a few suitors – not that she was ever interested.

Steve had gotten a little taller, but Bucky had shot up like a thermometer in boiling water. He was almost six feet, but not quite, and literally towered over Darcy's five-foot frame.

"Why're ya bein' so nice to me?"

He snorted, steering her home. "I'm always nice to my best girl."

Ducking under his arm, she snuggled against his side, marveling at the heat he put off. Him and Steve were always heaters despite the latter's health. It was surprising. And also handy because she was always cold.

"Mrs. Dorsett knows ya were at th' store, right?"

"Yeah." Small fingers crept beneath his shirt in search of more warmth. "She still thinks we're together, ya know."

He laughed. "Pretty sure that'd break Stevie's heart."

The fingers against his ribs stilled instantly. "What?"

 _Shit_. He shouldn't have said that.

Steve had been careful to keep his feelings for Darcy under wraps, especially because neither of them had broached the subject of their words. Bucky wasn't even sure she had any.

 _"I don't want to hold her back, Buck," Steve had bemoaned one night over a year ago when they were stocking the market. "She wants to go to Russia and travel and perform! I can't keep up with that." He huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. "I can hardly make it to the end of the block sometimes. She deserves more."_

And hell if Bucky didn't want to give her more. It took nearly everything he had to not try and take her out to a dance hall. And then preferably his bed. But Steve was head over worn out shoes for her and he'd be damned if he took that away from his best friend. Well, his other best friend.

"Ya know we love ya, doll. Don't think Mrs. Dorsett would let ya hang out with us if she really thought we were datin'."

Darcy accepted the brush off and tried to distance it from her mind.

"Why're all the lights off?"

The Dorsett's house was completely dark and worry gnawed at her gut.

"C'mon, Darce. Maybe they went to a show."

"Maybe."

She wasn't really confident in that answer, but she went along with it. She'd have Bucky at least and that in itself was something that a lot of other girls wished they'd had.

It was wrong how she felt possessive of her pair of boys, but she didn't want anyone to come between them. Sunday brunch was spent at Steve's house with his ma and almost every morning the trio could be found at the Barnes', trying to herd them all to school.

It had been difficult for Darcy to give up selling papers, but Mrs. Dorsett finally put her foot down about her schooling. Darcy planned on graduating early with Mrs. Rogers' help and then using the money she'd managed to save to audition in New York for the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet. And – if she got in – then traveling to Russia.

She had barely noticed that Bucky had swiped the key from her pocket and had ushered her inside until the lights flicked on and she was greeted with varying degrees of joyful yelling.

"Happy birthday!"

"Oh my goodness!"

The entire ground floor of the house was decked out in pink streamers and balloons with a small banner hanging from the second floor. Her eyes swept the room and she could feel her smile growing at everyone that had gathered.

"Ya didn't have to go through all this trouble," she said, albeit muffled from where Mrs. Dorsett had swept her into a hug. "It's just a birthday – "

"You deserve every moment of it!"

Darcy found that she couldn't argue with the woman's back and relaxed a bit, hugging everyone when they came to her.

"Spot!"

Strong arms were suddenly on her waist, lifting her into the air and spinning her around. The world swirled as she giggled, trying to get closer to him.

"I couldn't miss out on my little sister's birthday, now could I?" He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head when he set her down. Holding her at arms length, he whistled low as he looked her over. "Geesh, might wanna lock ya up 'til you're forty, doll. I don't wanna end up in jail for protectin' your honor or somethin'."

She shook her head and laughed, her long curls tumbling around her face. "Don't be sayin' stuff like that, Spot. Ya might give Buck an idea or two."

"Hey!"

Spot eyed the other man carefully. "Pretty sure I can take 'im, Darce. He's only a little bit taller'n me."

She giggled at Bucky's indignant face. "How'd ya know 'bout this? Did Mrs. Dorsett tell ya?"

"It was all your fella's idea. He sent a letter and well, I was pretty convincin' to my Cap that I hadda be here."

Darcy's head cocked to the side. "Fella?"

"Y'know, Steve."

She blushed all the way down to the roots of her hair and mumbled out, " _Oh_."

Her eyes met Bucky's and they seemed to communicate without words. He shuffled off in search of Steve as Spot watched curiously.

"The two o' ya are like magnets," he said without really thinking.

"We're best friends," she said with a roll of her eyes, making her way to the kitchen for a drink. Spot wasn't far behind and she handed him a glass of water before getting some for herself. "'Sides," she continued after a drink, "We're pretty close, I guess."

His brow creased for a moment. "They know you're auditionin' in June?"

"It hasn't come up – "

"Darcy – "

"I don't wanna tell 'em. What if I don't get in? What if I'm not good enough?" She sighed, blowing a stray curl away from her face.

Spot leaned forward and tucked the curl behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. "We both know that ain't true – "

"You've never seen me dance!"

" – and ya should smack yourself for believin' it for a second. The Darcy I know can do anythin' she puts her mind to. Even dancin'."

* * *

"I'm sorry!"

"I'm not much better, doll."

"At least you're not steppin' on _my_ toes."

"Bucky'd kill me if I did anythin' of th' sort."

However, Bucky had made sure to put her on his feet when they'd danced. Just in case.

Steve was all knobby knees and sharp elbows. Skinny fingers and bony hips. The hollows under his eyes were more pronounced than most people's and his nose was long and narrow. His blond hair was always this side of dirty while his blue eyes nearly lit up a room when he wasn't having an asthma attack.

He was cute, albeit not in the traditional sense like Bucky.

Bucky was tall and lean. Any sharpness on him came from picking up any extra work he could find and nearly working himself to death. His dark hair was always greasy from how he wore it slicked back, _trying to look good for the dames_ , he'd say. Darkness shadowed the lower part of his face often, even after he'd gotten a hold of a razor to fix it.

They were beautiful and sometimes it took Darcy's breath away at how she just didn't _fit in_.

Sure, she had a body that resembled the ones they painted on warplanes, but that wasn't really enough. Her brown curls were riotous at best, nearly reaching her waist when she didn't have it twisted up in some elegant style Mrs. Dorsett had read about in the latest gossip paper. Her nose was as small as a button, but she had a gap between her front teeth that never seemed to close when she got her adult teeth. Her lashes were at least long – she had _that_ going for her. Besides her ridiculous chest, that is.

"Ya look exhausted."

Blue eyes blinked hazily up at Steve and she gave him a small smile. "I guess I am," she murmured. She laid her head on his shoulder and couldn't be bothered to care if Mrs. Dorsett saw how his hands clutched at her waist.

"You're so pretty, Darcy," he whispered against the top of her head, his exhale causing her to shiver.

She had no say in the matter, really. It was her body working of its own accord.

When she tilted her head back to look at him, she stretched up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth, nearly gasping at the electricity that seemed to shoot through her. She wasn't expecting him to turn his head more and capture her lips completely, however.

Colors exploded behind her eyelids and it was as if everyone else in the room ceased to be. She didn't care that Mrs. Dorsett was probably going to ground her. She didn't care that Spot was probably gaping like a fish out of water. Didn't care that she appeared unseemly. The only thing that mattered was she was kissing Steven Grant Rogers.

She was _kissing_ Steven Grant Rogers.

 _She_ was kissing Steven Grant Rogers.

She was kissing _Steven Grant Rogers_.

And he was kissing her _back_.

She didn't notice another body behind her until Bucky's hot breath was in her ear. "Might wanna let up a little, doll. You're gonna give Mrs. Dorsett a heart attack."

Properly chastised, she pulled back from Steve's lips – his _lips_ – with a wet _pop_.

"Thanks for dancin' with me, Stevie," she said primly, her lashes fluttering coquettishly at him.

"Yeah." His voice cracked at the end and he valiantly ignore her giggle. "Anythin' for you, doll."

* * *

"Her lips as soft as they look, punk?"

Steve was floating on cloud nine. He got to kiss his girl on her birthday and Bucky wasn't even mad.

Flopping back onto his couch with a smile etched onto his face, he sighed dreamily. "Ain't like anythin' I'd ever imagined. Lord, Buck, she's a little firecracker under all that, I'm tellin' ya."

"Ya know that she could be your soul mate, right?"

"And she could be yours, too."

It hadn't exactly been addressed since that cold night four years ago. They both knew that she had said _their_ words, but they'd never gotten up the courage to ask her if she had words. Bucky tugged at the sleeve cuffed around his right wrist and sighed heavily.

"We gotta ask her eventually," the dark-haired one finally said.

Steve pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. "And what if she doesn't have words, Buck? Or what if she does and _we don't match_?"

"I love her, Stevie. Words or not, she belongs to us."

* * *

 _October 24, 1933 – Brooklyn, New York – Rogers' Residence_

It was cold, but he was _so hot_. She dutifully swept the damp cloth across his forehead and swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat.

"Need me t' ring it out?"

Darcy handed Bucky the cloth wordlessly, her eyes focused on Steve.

It had almost been two days since the last time he opened his eyes. He had come down with pneumonia, at least that's what Mrs. Rogers had said. His body was so tired from fighting the infection that it was preserving all the energy it could so he could survive.

"Darcy – "

"Don't say it, James. He's gonna make it. He _has_ to."

His heart hurt at the desperation in her voice. He knew Steve's ma was putting on a brave face, but she didn't have the money to take him to the hospital. She'd been feeding him whatever antibiotics she could pilfer from the pharmacy on her shifts and even she knew that he most likely wouldn't make it.

And he fucking hated that he couldn't do anything about it.

"Doll – "

"Can ya just grab some water from the kitchen, please?"

Bucky disappeared into the kitchen and when he came back his heart was as shattered as he felt. Darcy had managed to get on the small double bed with Steve and curled around his body like ivy. Her curls were tangled and her cheek was pressed flush against his chest. Tears clung to her lashes and Bucky felt every bit the interloper.

Not wanting to intrude, he ducked into Steve's bathroom and returned with the latter's brush before sitting on the floor next to the bed. Carefully, he began brushing the tangles from her hair, biting his tongue when he heard her sobbing become more pronounced.

Bucky held back his own tears as he heard her singing softly to Steve. It was the most beautiful and heart-wrenching sound he'd ever heard.

* * *

 _October 27, 1933 – Brooklyn, New York_

"He has to go to the hospital!"

"Darcy, hospitals cost _money_ – "

"I don't care! I won't sit here and watch him die!" Her hair frizzed and her eyes had black circles underneath them from all the sleepless nights. She was beautiful and terrifying all at once and it almost made Bucky lose his nerve.

"Baby, ya gotta – "

"James Buchanan Barnes, don't ya argue with me! We're takin' him to the hospital. _Now_! Steve's ma will understand and – "

"Darcy!"

She shook her head, tears cascading down her ruddy cheeks. "I'll pay. I-I can pay for whatever he needs. He can't breathe, Buck. He can't…he can't _breathe_."

"I…okay, Darce. Let's get him to the hospital."

* * *

It had taken some finagling to swing by her house and pick up the money she'd been saving for school, but they were able to do that before bringing Steve to the hospital.

The doctor had looked at him for a minute, listened to his chest, and then declared that he needed surgery stat. _Stat_. Like, without it, Steve would keel over any second.

Darcy filled out all the medical forms since Mrs. Rogers was working and she and Bucky waited patiently in the waiting room. She was practically in his lap and his arms were wrapped so tightly around her that she wasn't sure where she ended and he began.

He'd called her _baby_.

Not doll or sweetheart or anything else.

 _Baby_.

And it made her heart flutter as much as when Steve called her honey – which he had began doing a lot more since they'd been necking on almost a daily basis. Before he got sick, that is.

"Where's your jacket, Darce?" His voice rumbled against her back and she shivered, just registering the bite in the room.

She shrugged. "Guess I was a little preoccupied."

Sighing, he unbuttoned his jacket and pulled her tighter against his chest, folding the worn fabric against her in a futile attempt to keep her warm. Hospitals were notoriously cold to help from spreading disease, after all.

They waited hours, but it felt like days. They didn't let go of each other, even though Darcy's bladder was demanding attention _right now_ and she was sure that Bucky's lap was sore from supporting her weight.

"If…if Steve doesn't make it…ya know that I'm here for ya, right?"

Twisting in his lap, she looked up and met his eyes, subtly nodding. "I know, Bucky. But…he's _gonna_ make it. He's strong. He's too stubborn to quit." She nuzzled her face against his throat when she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love him. I _love_ him and I never even told him."

"He knows, baby." There it was again. That slip that nearly made her melt into his arms. "I promise." His arm wound around her waist and held her tighter when he felt wetness drip down to the base of his throat.

They were still entangled when they heard someone calling for Steve Rogers.

Darcy jumped off of Bucky so fast that he would've been offended if he wasn't a half step behind her.

"You're waiting for Steve Rogers?" The older man said, looking down his nose at the pair of seemingly children. At their nod, he relented. "He's out of surgery. He needs rest. If I let the two of you in, can you promise not to work him up?"

"Yes, sir."

"Of course."

The doctor led them back to the rooms and she grimaced at passing all the other sick people. Winter was always harsh in Brooklyn but knowing about it and seeing it were two different things.

When the doctor opened the door at the end of the hall, her eyes zeroed in on Steve's prone figure, hooked up to machines and his midsection all bandaged up.

"What'd'ya have to do?" She asked in a quiet voice.

The doctor flipped Steve's chart in his hand, humming noncommittally before he spoke. "Ah, complications from pneumonia. His lungs were filled with fluid. We had to drain them and patch him back up. He should be back to normal in a month or so."

"When can he come home, Doc?"

"By the end of next week if everything goes well." He looked a bit closer at the paperwork and a line appeared between his bushy eyebrows. "Are you Miss Lewis?" At her nod, he continued, "The registrar needs to speak with you about a few billing matters. I see you signed for financial responsibility?"

She nodded primly once more, ignoring the doctor's disbelieving face. "I'll go speak to them after I've visited with Steve for a moment."

Without another word, the doctor left the room and Darcy visibly relaxed. She'd slung her purse over her shoulder when she ran out of her house and it suddenly seemed to get heavier.

"Darcy – "

"It's fine, Buck. I'd do it all again if I had to."

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead before he pushed her towards Steve's bed. Taking the seat next to it, she held his hand tightly, pressing a kiss to his palm.

"You'd better wake up, Steven Grant Rogers. We gotta lot of stuff left to do, y'know."

* * *

"I came as soon as I could."

Mrs. Rogers was generally a very put together woman, but Steve's recent sickness had taken quite a toll on her. Her uniform was wrinkled and her blonde hair had come unpinned, but Bucky just smiled tiredly up at her.

She practically ran to her son's side, double-checking to make sure everything was hooked up correctly and his bandages were changed recently before she collapsed in the chair on the other side of the bed.

"I read that he had to have fluid drained – "

"Yeah. They fixed him up good, though. Gave him a shot to get rid of the last of the pneumonia. He should be headin' home by next week if he heals all right."

Mrs. Rogers nodded sagely before her face clouded over in anxiety. "I should probably go speak with the registrar – "

"Darcy already took care o' it." Bucky hadn't meant for his voice to be as gruff as it was, but he couldn't help it. He didn't know where she had gotten the money – he _knew_ she'd never steal from the Dorsetts – and that only left the money that she'd been saving for school. The money she'd been working for since she was just a kid. It rubbed him the wrong way that he couldn't have been the one to come up with the money, but the market wasn't doing as good as it used to.

"What?"

"Darcy spoke to the registrar before Mrs. Dorsett called her home. She…took care o' everythin'. She didn't want ya stressin'."

"But…the surgery had to cost – "

"She didn't care 'bout the cost s'long as Steve was still breathin'." He took a deep breath, meeting the older woman's red-rimmed eyes. "She loves him, y'know. We both do. But she couldn't let 'im go through that."

* * *

 **What did you think? Leave a review below!**

 **~Grace**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 _December 16, 1933 – New York City, New York_

"Ya got me all dressed up and ya won't even tell me where you're takin' me."

"That's half the fun, ya little firecracker."

Darcy rolled her eyes and tugged the two of them closer to her. They were on the outskirts of the city, having been dropped off by a cab a few blocks back. It was a surprise, they'd insisted.

After Steve had gotten better, he'd withdrawn from her. There was no more necking and no more cuddles. She was lucky that she got to hold his arm as they walked. It hurt her and she didn't understand what she'd did wrong to cause him to recoil almost every time she reached for him.

A large tent appeared in the distance and she held her breath. She'd never been to a circus before. Lights danced across the outside of the white tent and her heart sped up in excitement.

"Been plannin' this since your birthday, babydoll," Bucky said, nudging her hip with his own. "Hope ya like it."

It was everything she'd dreamt of and more.

The colors, the lights, the animals.

Most of all, her eyes were drawn to a girl that couldn't have been more than eighteen that was on a tightrope at the very top of the tent. She seemed to be a staple in almost every act. She assisted the knife thrower, retrieving them after her threw them – always hitting the target. She rode atop the animals, making them dance and performing with an elephant that both frightened and exhilarated Darcy.

She was a work of art and Darcy was transfixed.

"Ya ready to go home?" Steve asked, looking around a little fidgety.

Bucky groaned. "Hold on, punk. I wanna get a look at that fire guy. You comin'?"

"Go on," Darcy urged them both, wanting to track down the dancer. "I'll meet ya both near the front."

Bucky dragged a reluctant Steve off and Darcy took off, nearly tripping in the heels that she'd decided to wear.

"Ya lost, little lady?"

She turned and met the kind smile of an older gentleman. Shaking her head, a curl popped loose and she smiled. "No, sir. I was lookin' for the girl that walked the tightrope. She… she was somethin'."

The man laughed. "She's got a sweetheart in the city. This was her last performance for the next year or so. You any good on a tightrope, doll?"

She blushed down to her roots. "I never tried, mister. I dance, but that's 'bout it. Trying to get into school for it, but it's real expensive."

"Tell ya what. If you're interested in runnin' away with the circus, we don't clear outta here until Wednesday mornin'." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "We can get ya trained in no time and money's pretty good, too. We normally do a pretty routine circuit. You'd be back here in about a year."

"I…I'll think about it, sir."

"Name's John Ringling, doll. I look forward to seeing more of ya."

* * *

Darcy crept inside after bidding her boys goodnight. She set her shoes on the stairs and turned to go upstairs when the light clicked on behind her and she shrieked.

"Shhh!"

She whirled around with her hand on her heart, letting out a breathless gasp. " _Spot_?"

"Got leave for the holidays," he shrugged, standing and taking off her coat. "Figured I'd have to drop in and see how Rogers is treatin' ya."

She rolled her eyes, strutting into the kitchen for a drink as Spot followed her. She looked him over when he set down across the table from her and worried her lip at what she saw.

Spot was put together pretty well, but she knew his tells.

The collar on his shirt was torn just barely and the shadows under his eyes spoke of nightmares that he couldn't get away from. His smile was tired and forced, but she let it go, knowing he'd only talk if he wanted to.

"Well?"

"Me and Steve…broke up, I guess. He got real sick, ended up in the hospital and he…he hasn't wanted to be with me or anythin'."

He looked at her oddly. "Rogers…broke up…with _you_? He knows he's not gonna do any better, right?"

"Spot!"

"Doll, you've looked in the mirror, I'm sure o' it. You're a damned knockout – "

" _Language_."

"And he'd be stupider'n he looks to let ya go. Do I need t' go knock some sense into him?"

She shook her head in exasperation. "I wanna join the circus," she blurted before she could think better of it.

"What?" He looked like a baking sheet had just smacked him. "A _circus_? What?"

"I'm plannin' on takin' the test to graduate this week and I don't have enough money to get to Russia if I get accepted in New York City. I thought I could work to save up money and get outta here for a while. See if I like travelin'."

"What'd'ya mean ya don't have enough money? Darce, what 'bout all that money ya saved up from the papers?"

She worried her bottom lip. "Steve was sick and he had to have surgery. Mrs. Rogers couldn't afford it…I couldn't let him die, Spot. He's…he said my words and what if he's mine? What if my words disappeared when he died?"

"Darcy…that was your education."

Disappointment was coming off of Spot in waves and it made her eyes water. She'd never once second guessed her choice to use the money to save Steve and she never would.

"I can make more money – I can't get another Steve."

Shaking his head, he relented. "And what 'bout this circus?"

"They need a new tightrope walker. I watched her do it, doesn't seem too hard. I'm a bit heavier than her, but I think I can do it." She smiled. "I only have to work for a year and then I'll be back in the city. I'll be able to travel and see the states. I think I'd be good at it. Mr. Ringling seemed to think so."

Spot's eyes widened. "Ringling? Mr. _Ringling_? Like _Ringling Brothers_?"

"Oh. _Oh_."

"Fuck, doll. Ya don't have a choice. If Mr. Goddamned Ringling said you'd be good at it, then go."

Darcy couldn't even chide him for his language as she thought about it. She was in over her head. She'd better learn how to swim.

* * *

"You're gonna push her away completely if ya keep this shit up, punk."

Steve groaned, scrubbing his hand over his face. He was being unfair to her, he knew that. But she'd already given him so much of herself that he could never repay.

"If this is still 'bout ya holdin' her back, ya gotta stop. You're hurtin' her, Steve."

"I don't want t' hurt her, Buck. I don't want her t' think it's her job t' take care o' me. My ma's runnin' herself into th' ground. I can't do that t' her, too."

Bucky fought back a grin at how much his Brooklyn was coming out when he was tired, but sighed anyway. "Just…try not to push her away. She loves you."

"I know."

* * *

 _December 19, 1933 – Brooklyn, New York_

Everything was coming together.

She'd taken her graduation test and passed with flying colors. She'd told Mrs. Dorsett about her plans to get some real experience performing before she auditioned in New York City – she promptly left out the fact that she was joining the circus – and she had all her important belongs packed and ready to go. She'd thought about leaving a letter for her boys, but she wasn't really sure what to say.

The words around her wrists seemed to burn her skin and she was happy that she'd decided to fit ribbons around them, just in case anyone was to see. She wanted to go and explore, travel and be free before being tied down. Not that she'd ever consider being with Bucky and Steve _tied down_.

"What's up, doll?"

She smiled up at Bucky, ducking under his arm and swinging through the open door of the market.

"Just wanted to swing by and make sure ya were doin' okay." She hopped up on the counter and snatched an apple from the stand. Taking a bite, she mumbled, "Thought ya'd be happier to see me."

He chuckled. Shutting the door, he made his way over to her and grabbed the apple, taking a bite out of the unblemished side. "'m always happy to see ya."

Bucky wasn't particularly smart when it came to women – at least that's what his ma said – but he could definitely read a room. And it sure seemed like it was written that Darcy as going to drop some news of her own.

"All right, Darce, spit it out."

She shook her head. "Not sure what ya mean."

"I've known ya for a while now, doll. Ya can't hide whatever you're tryin' to hide. Might as well spill th' beans now."

She groaned, swiping the apple back from him and biting into it, not caring that she'd just bit over his part. "I graduated."

A beat passed before he scratched the back of his neck. "So, you're headed to the city?"

"Soon."

"Did ya tell Stevie?"

"I…I'm not sure how he'll take it." She laughed self-deprecatingly. "He hasn't exactly been bein' too nice to me since he left the hospital."

"We took ya to the circus – "

" _You_ took me to the circus. Steve kinda just went along with it. He looked uncomfortable the entire time and barely let me hold his arm."

Bucky knew she was speaking the truth. Steve had been standoffish since he'd found out where the money came from, but he was hoping he'd come around.

"What're ya lookin' for? Want him to kiss ya like he did 'fore he got sick? Want him to wrap his arms 'round that little waist o' yours?" He crowded her, positioning himself between her spread legs and cupping her jaw with his left hand. He could practically feel her pulse and it only riled him up more. "What'd'ya want, baby?"

"I want him to love me like _you_ love me."

He smiled, resting his forehead against hers. "Ya think I love ya?" His voice rumbled, low and sure.

"I know ya do."

His mouth was on hers as the last word slipped out of her mouth. Teeth clashed together and a moan built in the back of her throat. Her fingers tangled in his hair and secured his mouth to hers.

It was messy and needy and _just_ what she wanted.

"God _damn_ , baby," he panted, barely pulling away from her. "You're as sweet as they fuckin' come."

"Shut it, Buck."

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours – or, at least, that's how it felt. Kissing Bucky was different than kissing Steve. Her whole world imploded when Steve kissed her, but the universe felt like it was being recalibrated when Bucky kissed her.

He wasn't gentle and tentative like the blond was. He was all sharp edges and darkness that only served to pull her under. He was addicting and deep and everything that counterbalanced Steve. They were ying and yang and she was the circle that kept them both together.

"Why does this seem like 'goodbye'?" He asked, nuzzling his lips against her neck as her fingers slid beneath his shirt and scratched at the skin of his back.

"It's never goodbye."

She pulled his mouth back to hers and kissed him like it was her last night on earth. Like she'd never taste his lips again or feel his skin beneath her fingertips. She wanted to _remember_. She wanted him to linger on her skin.

"I'm with you."

"'Til the end of the line?"

"'Til whenever ya don't want me anymore."

"Never."

* * *

"Darce," Steve's eyes widened when he opened the front door, looking at her questioningly. "What're ya doin' here?"

Her cheeks were pink and there were snowflakes in her hair. She had her coat buttoned all the way up to her throat and a scarf tied haphazardly around her neck.

"I wanted to show your ma that I got my papers." She waved an envelope at him and he just stared back at her dumbly.

"What?"

"I graduated."

"You're only sixteen."

Rolling her eyes, she pocketed the envelope and sighed. "And I've been workin' on graduatin' early. I took the test yesterday and picked up the results today. I thought she'd like to see that all her hard work paid off."

Steve blinked at her before all the dots connected in his head. "You're leavin' ain't ya."

It wasn't really a question and she felt like Steve already knew the answer. It tugged at her heartstrings, but she smiled at him.

"I've gotta go sometime."

His lips crashed down hard on hers, nearly causing her to stumble before she realized what was happening. Her arms wound around his neck and pulled at the hair on the back of his head.

It was now or never and Darcy wasn't going to let him go that easy.

Granted, she'd been kissed into a puddle by her other best friend, but she was going to go out with a bang.

 _"You goin' to see Stevie, too?" Bucky asked as she wiped her thumb across her bottom lip, relishing in the wetness there._

 _"I wasn't really plannin' on it. Seein' as he hasn't wanted me."_

 _"He'll always want ya, baby. Go to him. I know you're leavin'."_

 _She stilled. "Bucky – "_

 _"I get it," he held his hands up, a smile cracking his face. "Ya don't think I know how'ta share? C'mon, doll. Stevie and I've been sharin' ya since we met ya. We're good at that." He disappeared behind the till and came back with a small package. "If you're gonna do what I think ya will, you'll need protection. Don't want any little Rogers, do we?"_

"Your ma's at the hospital, right?"

He pulled away from her for a second. "Uh, yeah. Won't be back until – mmph!"

Darcy didn't want to waste any time. She practically shoved him into the house, kicking the door shut behind her as they came together in a clash of neediness. The blind led the blind as they somehow made it to his bedroom, the feisty brunette pushing him down onto the bed and nearly collapsing on top of him.

"Darcy, we can't – I don't wanna get ya in trouble," he panted, gripping her hips as tightly as he could to keep her from moving. "Oh, _Lord_."

She'd somehow managed to rip off her shirt – she'd lost her jacket and scarf along the path to his room – and brassiere in one fell swoop, causing his mouth to drop open in surprise. He was staring at the most perfect pair of breasts he'd ever seen. Not that he'd seen _any_ either, mind you, but he knew hers were the best. That's what Bucky had always said, anyway.

A feminine giggle bubbled out of her and she asked slyly, "Ya gonna touch? Or just look?"

His hands were on her, squeezing, petting – driving her _insane_.

It took some maneuvering to get him naked and her trousers off. They were flush, skin to skin in a matter of moments that neither could particularly recall. Steve's hand traveled from her hip to the neatly trimmed thatch of dark curls nestled between her thighs and the groan he emitted was enough to cause her cunt to slick more than it already had from Bucky kissing her senseless earlier.

"God _damn_ , sweetheart. Ya tryin' to kill me?"

"No," she huffed, shaking her head and he was mesmerized by the way her curls seemed to create a waterfall around her face. His cock was long and hard and _wanting_ against her thigh and when she reached off the bed to grab her purse, it sprung out between them, landing on his stomach with a wet _plop_. When she reseated herself on his thighs, she eyed his cock carefully, her mouth dropping into a little 'o'.

"Darce?"

She swallowed. "You're just a bit bigger'n I expected," she managed to get out, rifling through her purse for the parting gift Bucky had given her. Crowing with victory, she removed the little pack and chucked her purse back onto the floor, giving Steve a filthy smile.

"Ya wanna go all the way?"

"Don't _ya_?"

His answer was invalid as she ripped open the rubber's package and rolled it onto his cock like she'd practiced at home once, being sure to leave some space at the top. She was a jumble of nerves and seeing Steve heavy-lidded and anxious beneath her almost caused her to impale herself at that very second and ride him until she was cross-eyed.

"Why ain't I on top?" He asked, his bottom lip jutting out playfully as he drew circles on her hips with his slender fingers.

Readjusting herself, she carefully lifted her hips and positioned his cock at her opening, ever so slowly sinking down on him. "Because," she grunted, feeling the swollen head pop through her small opening, "I think ya might have an asthma attack on top o' me and that wouldn't be fun 'splainin' to your ma."

"Lord, Darce," he gasped, pulling at her hips futilely, "Ya feel so good. So wet. _Warm_. Jesus."

A little further and she felt a small tear that blossomed into pain. Holding herself still, she reached down and rubbed the pearl at the opening of her sex, willing the pain into pleasure. When she'd calmed enough, she sank the rest of the way onto him, the air in her lungs rushing out with a faint _whoosh_.

A sob ripped free from her chest. "Fuck, Steve! I _love you_!"

He had a death grip on her hips. Panting and needy and so _damned_ sexy that she wanted to keep him inside her for as long as possible. Shallow movements made way for more and soon she was rising up and sinking down onto his cock, her back arched and head thrust backwards as she rode him like she thought she ought to.

He seemed to be at war with himself and barely managed, "Darce, darlin', I'm not gonna last – _fuck_. Darcy, ya feel too good."

"Come, Steve," she begged, an ache beginning to form between her legs that wasn't exactly comfortable.

She was sore and nervous, but she _needed_ this. Needed _him_.

He was a fast learner and remembered how she'd touched herself to ease the pain of having him inside her. Dragging his right hand from her hip, her circled her sensitive clit with the pad of his finger and cried out in surprise when she bucked wildly on top of him, his name like a prayer on his lips.

"Darcy! _Damn_!"

It was messy and uncoordinated and exactly what she needed.

His abdomen was slick with her release and the sheets were damp. She collapsed onto his chest as she felt him finish inside her, thankful for Bucky's foresight of the rubbers.

His trembling fingers traced along her spine as he caught his breath, not that he'd done much other than allow her to take pleasure from him. He could definitely see why he couldn't be on top of her now, though. He felt her lips at the base of his throat and tangled his fingers in the wild curls of her hair to hold her closer.

"I'm not gonna be stupid when it comes to ya again, sweetheart."

She mumbled in agreement, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

He simply held her until sleep took him as well.

* * *

 _December 20, 1933 – Brooklyn, New York – Rogers' Residence_

There was a definite chill in the air that hadn't been there when Steve went to sleep. His sleepy eyes blinked open as he reached blindly for the girl he'd fallen asleep next to, his brow furrowing when his searching hand came up empty.

Yawning, he sat up and looked around his room, hoping that he hadn't just been dreaming. His clothes were folded into a neat pile at the foot of his bed, but there was no sign of Darcy. There was no light under the bathroom door and the house was silent.

Steve got up quickly, dressing and ducking out the door without even checking if his ma was home.

 _What if last night was a dream? What if she was never there?_

His lungs began to ache with exertion and he pulled his inhaler out of his pocket, taking a quick huff without slowing his pace. The market wasn't that far from his house, but it seemed like the streets were packed for a Wednesday. He'd obviously overslept for school.

He almost ran over a poor woman with her groceries in order to get into the market. Making his way up to the till, he panted. "M…Mr. B-Barnes. Is…is Buck…Bucky here?"

Mr. Barnes stared at him oddly. "He's in the back, Steve. Give me a minute."

Steve sat off to the side as he tried to catch his breath, trying not to look like he was on the verge of dying.

His mind was overflowing with the memories of last night. Seeing Darcy writhe on top of him. Hearing her pant his name and cry out because he was in _side_ her and it was perfect and wonderful and –

"Steve, hey – what th' hell happened t' ya?"

"Have…have ya seen Darce?"

Bucky looked taken aback. "No. Not since last night." He looked over at his father, an odd look on his face. "Pa, did ya see Darcy at all?"

The older man finished checking out an elderly man and wiped his hands on his apron before pulling an envelope out of his pocket. "She stopped by early this mornin'. Asked me to give this to th' both o' ya."

Steve took the envelope, carefully opening it before letting his eyes devour it. He read it again and again as he tried to make sense of it, but no sense would come.

"Give it here," Bucky grumbled, snatching the paper from him.

 _Steve & Bucky,_

 _I hope you aren't too mad at me. I need some time to find out who I am. I hope you both can forgive me. I'm sorry that I'm so selfish, but I need to do this. For me. For_ us _. I'll be back, I promise._

 _All my love,_

 _Darcy_

* * *

 **Be sure to leave a review!**

 **~Grace**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 _May 16, 1934 – Washington, DC_

Tightrope walking was a lot harder than it looked, especially for someone as curvaceous as Darcy. By now, she was sure she had muscles in places she'd never even known had existed. However, she'd picked up a bit of the firebug, as the performers called it.

Landon 'Sparky' McCone had a firebug that he'd never been able to shake. He'd burnt down his house when he was seven and had been on the run ever since, making meager money where he could. Mr. Ringling took him in and showed him the ropes and ever since Sparky had become a main attraction at the circus.

Darcy was hypnotized.

She'd never been much to play with fire, but Sparky had literally taken her under his wing and shown her all the amazing things she could do with a match and a bit of gasoline.

It took some practice, but soon enough Darcy was spitting fire like him. After, of course, she stopped accidently swallowing the remnants of gasoline. Mr. Ringling had thought it was amusing to have a female firebug, but he soon realized how much more money she could bring in instead of Sparky. She could walk the tightrope and breathe fire at the same time – she'd managed to catch the tent on fire only once and that in itself was quite an accomplishment.

The outfit, however, was an entirely different story.

When the former performer – Anastasia, she'd learned – left, she'd taken all her frilly outfits and parasols with her, leaving Darcy completely unprepared. Mr. Ringling didn't want to throw money at costumes until he was sure she'd be an asset, after all.

As a result, Darcy's outfit was mainly compromised of threadbare and unwanted pieces mashed and stitched together to form something identifiable as a costume.

"Are you ready?"

Looking up at the voice, she smiled at the familiar head of dark hair. "Almost," she said, swiping a heavy line of kohl under her eyes. "I don't wanna be scary – "

Irina laughed. "You're a firebug, _lapochka_. You're supposed to be frightening, no? That's why your costume is so _sensual_. Scare the men and make them beg for more."

That was the crux of it, really. Irina was always pushing her have a good time with a guy or go out on the town, but her heart belonged to two Brooklyn boys that she thought about damn near every day.

Spot wrote her occasionally and told her what was happening back home when he was there. Apparently, Bucky had graduated early, too, and started working fulltime at a steel factory to help ends meet with his family. He'd been saving up for him and Steve to get a place together, which wasn't looking very likely. Steve was too caught up in school to do anything else, really.

Darcy had been lost when she left home, but when she met Irina Baronova, everything just fell into place.

Irina was from Russia and she was an aspiring ballerina with big brown eyes and a tangle of chestnut hair to rival her own. She had practical training and had performed at the Opera House, but she was looking for more worldly experience. Her parents had encouraged her to go and see what life was like outside of Russia and Irina had clung to it. Being only fifteen, she was the best girl friend that Darcy never had, even being a year her junior.

"Are you thinking about Steven?"

"Irina!"

"You left your journal out, _again_. How was I supposed to know you didn't want anyone snooping?" Irina's eyes were wide with faux innocence and it made Darcy huff in exasperation. "Besides, are you ever planning on going back? You left in the first place – "

Darcy held up her hand, her voice weary when she finally spoke. "I left for a good reason. I plan on goin' back. Brooklyn is my _home_ ; I won't abandon Steve or Bucky."

"But haven't you, already?" Her head was cocked to the side in honest confusion. "Do they wear your words? Or is it hopeful thinking?"

"I don't have words – "

"I see the ribbons around your wrists, _lapochka_ ," she snapped, tossing Darcy's ballet flat at her. "Either you had a very unfortunate _accident_ with a straight razor or you're hiding something. And with two boys waiting at home I find the former very unlikely. Now, which one is it?"

She sat in a stunned silence for a moment. "We never discussed our words, but they both said mine. But…regardless, they're _mine_. And distance won't change that."

* * *

Nerves rattled Darcy down to her very core. She hadn't performed for an audience yet – not a _public_ audience, anyway – and she was quite literally shaking in her ballet flats.

Irina had gone on before her, leading the horses and the elephants in elegant patterns that had the crowd awing in amazement. The way she glided over the backs of the horses and rode atop the elephant were gracious and entrancing and Darcy was just a little envious.

Pulling down the hem of her black sequined shorts, she shivered involuntarily. She knew the rope like the back of her hand and the fire was just an added extra. The little flask secured on her belt was filled with gasoline and she had a matchbook stuck in the garter on her thigh so she was prepared.

A hard thump to her shoulder caused her to jerk forward before she swung her head back.

"Ya ready, kid? Ya aren't gonna freeze up on me, are ya?"

She shook her head, her curls bouncing around her face. "Nah, it'll be fine. Got a little stage fright, is all."

Sparky grinned, showing the tobacco stains that covered his teeth. "There's a full house tonight. Ringling said this is your big shot. Make it count, kid."

* * *

Drink. Light. Spit. Repeat.

Drink. Light. Spit. Repeat.

 _Drink. Light. Spit. Repeat._

Fire swirled like an angry halo above Darcy's head and she threw her arm up in a flourish as she took a bow.

Catcalls filtered through the audience and she blushed accordingly, wishing the bustles that were tied around her waist covered more of her butt. Her bustier had ridden down some seeing as it was a few sizes too big, but she managed to shimmy it back up as she took Sparky's hand.

He hefted her – quite literally since he made an _ungodly_ noise of protest – onto the rope and she balanced precariously as the crowd made noises of distress. Once she was steady, she took the parasol he offered and balanced it delicately above her head, thankful she could smile with half a mouth full of gasoline.

Taking a deep breath through her nose, she lifted one foot off the rope, extending it behind her. Her fingers went to the matchbook in her garter and she ripped out a couple matches, striking them against the bottom of her ballet flat. With her parasol held out to the side, she held the lit matches a few inches from her mouth and blew as hard as she could. A cloud of fire blossomed out of her mouth and the audience went silent in astonishment. She spun in a tight circle on the middle of the rope and repeated her actions.

The lacy parasol flittered to the ground and she felt the rope grow tighter as the men securing it pulled it up a few more feet. With a mental shake to her nerves, she slipped the flask from her belt and sucked down the last mouthful. Circling once more, she dropped gracefully, securing her legs around the rope and hanging upside down by her knees. Ripping the final match from the book, she struck it heavily against the rope and held it right side up under her upside down face.

All she could see was fire as the air left her lungs and left the audience in awe.

With a tuck and a roll, she landed on the soft mat almost ten feet below her, sidling up next to Sparky and picking up her parasol in the same sweep.

Mr. Ringling stepped next to the ring and tipped his top hat, a smile on his face. "Sparky and the Firecracker!"

The crowd erupted into ear shattering applause and Darcy felt the breath she'd been holding leave her lungs in a grateful huff, a weight seemingly lifted from her chest.

* * *

 _June 16, 1934 – Bridgeport, Connecticut_

Washington, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania _again_. It was becoming more and more of a blur.

Darcy _loved_ it.

She and Irina shared a car when possible on the train, but sometimes they were shipped together with other acts. She didn't really mind living in close quarters with other people; the orphanage had made it easy as pie.

The pay was shaping up to be pretty good. Good enough to buy a bustier that actually fit, anyway. Her costume had become a bit less eclectic and more suitable for a firebug. Burnt cotton, singed lace, scorched leather. It nearly gave a man in Newark a heart attack.

"You ready for tonight, doll? Full house."

She smiled at the older gentleman. "Of course, Mr. Ringling. It's always a full house, though. You're always sure to make sure of that."

"Sparky's got a new parasol for ya. Try not to light it on fire."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 _July 4, 1934 – Brooklyn, New York – Rogers' Residence_

"C'mon, Stevie. Ya gotta blow out the candles."

Steve looked at the few candles gathered on the vanilla cupcake with distain. They were green. _Her_ favorite color.

"Steve – "

"Why bother? My wish isn't gonna come true, Buck. She won't come back."

Bucky stilled, the cupcake in his hand wavering for a second. "Ya know that's not fair."

It had been absolute hell having Darcy away from them. It was like they had to relearn their entire life. They had to relearn how to do everything without _her_.

Steve knew on an unconscious level that Darcy was like the glue that held them all together, but being thrown into a life without her was like being thrown into the Hudson River and not knowing how to swim. He felt like he was drowning more often than not and he was clinging to Bucky like a life preserve.

He buried himself in school and drawing things on the side for the paper, scrounging up any bit of cash he could. His ma was pushing herself harder and harder at the hospital, picking up all the extra shifts they offered and yet it still wasn't enough. Bucky stepped in where he could, making sure Steve had all the things he needed for school and swiping groceries that were just past their expiration date from the market that were just going to be thrown out any way. When he could, Bucky would slip a few extra dollars into the emergency jar he knew Steve kept hidden under his bed and the latter had yet to say anything, so he figured he was being pretty sneaky.

"She'll come back when she's ready. ' _I'll be back, I promise_ ', that's what she wrote, punk. I'm not gonna give up on our girl just because she needs some time." He rolled his eyes, setting the cupcake down on the table between them. "Hafta admit ya can be a real meathead sometimes. No wonder she was sick 'n tired of ya."

Steve grinned despite himself. "Jerk."

"Blow out your candles, already."

The blond huffed and leaned forward, blowing out the candles with enough concentration that he wouldn't induce an asthma attack. A somber look replaced his small grin and he heard Bucky sigh.

"What'd'ya wish for?"

"Ya know what I wished for."

"I miss her, too, ya know," Bucky said quietly, his hands clasped on the table suddenly far more interesting than the other man in the room. There were lined with cuts and scrapes from working at the factory and he thought the black would never wash off his skin, but it was a small price to pay to make sure his family was taken care of, immediate _and_ extended.

"Bucky – "

"I know ya slept with her – _no_ , Steve, shut up. I _know_ ya slept with her. I'm not jealous. Who'd'ya think she got the rubbers from? I wanted ya both to be safe, swiped 'em from the store." He laughed, his voice a bit more bitter than he'd intended. "I told ya that Darcy's ours. It's not functional, I'm smart enough to know that, but she's _ours_. Fuck, Stevie, I'd take a damned bullet for her. She's our girl. And she'll come home to us."

"I hope you're right, Buck."

"I'm always right, punk," he replied cockily.

* * *

 _July 4, 1934 – Fradford, Pennsylvania_

"Great show tonight, Firecracker!"

Darcy smiled indulgently. "Thanks, Lou. Ya did great with training the elephants."

She felt that her performance fell a bit flat, but she'd still garnered the same applause from the audience so she figured it couldn't have been that bad.

It was Steve's birthday.

Normally, she'd take him to the malt shop by his house and they'd split a malt while Bucky demolished a whole one by himself. Later, she'd sneak Steve a vanilla cupcake because she knew that was his favorite – and if she gave it to him in front of Bucky, the brunet would demolish it in ten seconds flat.

Making her way back to the train, she winced as she put her full weight on her foot. She had slipped from the rope during the end of her performance, but had managed to cover it as a new stunt, hanging from the rope by one leg and blowing the biggest fireball she had yet. Her ankle was stiff as a result and she couldn't wait to make it back to her pseudo-room.

Once she was tucked safely inside, she unlaced her bustier and slipped off her shorts, stopping short when her eyes landed on her vanity.

A single, albeit small, slice of vanilla cake was sitting on her makeup bag, a note tucked underneath.

Hobbling to the sweet, she took the note and smiled despite herself.

 _Steve would want you to have this._

Darcy hadn't realized she was crying until her eyes met her reflection in the mirror, the kohl under her eyes making its way to her cheeks instead. Swiping away the tears, she grinned stupidly at the cake.

 _Happy birthday, Stevie_ , she thought.

* * *

 _October 7, 1934 – New Orleans, Louisiana_

"We're selling what?"

"Alcohol, _lapochka_. Prohibition ended last year."

Darcy groaned. "This is a party city, though. Normal men in the city already try to get hands-y. What about drunk men?"

"Stop making assumptions," Irina chided, painting her lips to be a bright red to match her costume for the evening. "Mr. Ringling has assured us all that security precautions shall be in place. Are you doubting him?"

"I'm doubtin' how well he thinks he knows drunk men." She shook her head, pinning an errant curl back as she sat at her vanity. "It's one thing if they show up drunk, but servin' alcohol? That's askin' for trouble, Riny."

Most of the girls in the circus had a bit of trouble fending off overzealous fans, but there had never been any real issues. Darcy had never liked alcohol, not since Bucky had pilfered an old bottle of whiskey from his pa's closet and they'd all got sick from it. But men reacted differently when alcohol was introduced to the mix – they were violent, _vulgar_ things that made Darcy cringe.

A hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "You'll have Sparky, _lapochka_. Don't worry so much."

* * *

Having Sparky had proved to be as helpful as having a bottle opener when you needed a spoon.

After their performance, he'd slipped away with a few fire-chasers – girls that _fawned_ over firebugs – and she hadn't seen him since. Normally, shows took place right near the train tracks so the performers could go back to their cars when they were done, but New Orleans didn't have a big enough space to accommodate their tents. So, they'd had to make do with an empty field almost smack dab in the middle of the city. A city that was gradually becoming more frightening to Darcy.

The show had gone well; she'd performed her little heart out and earned more applause than ever before. But the crowd was cheering for _everything_. It didn't matter what. If Mr. Ringling tipped his hat, the crowd exploded. It was noisy and nerve wracking and Darcy was _so_ over it.

They'd all walked over from the train with each other and Darcy hadn't been afraid, but the thought of walking back alone now that she couldn't find Sparky had her heart hammer in her chest.

Brooklyn was dangerous, but she knew it backwards and forwards, inside and out. She couldn't be scared of her home, however, New Orleans was _not_ her home.

She found out that Irina had already went back with Lou when she asked a stagehand and for once she wished that the girl had stayed to see the rest of the set.

Deciding to gather her Brooklyn courage, she tied her coat tighter around her to ward off the fall chill – and cover her skimpy costume – and held her head high.

She was Darcy Lewis. She could do anything.

And right now, anything consisted of a warm bed without scorch marks on her skin.

* * *

 _November 8, 1934 – Brooklyn, New York_

"I _knew_ it!"

"Steve, s'not what it looks like – "

"You're puttin' money in my jar!"

Bucky sighed, flopping onto the ground with Steve's emergency jar still in his hand. He ran his hand through his hair, messing up how the grease had slicked it back. "Ya weren't s'posed to be back yet."

Walking right up to him, Steve grabbed the jar from his hands and shook it. "How much ya been puttin' in, Buck? 'Cause last time I checked, there was 'bout twenty bucks that I know _I_ didn't put there!"

"Yeah, well, what's th' matter with tryin' to help ya? If I got a few extra bucks in my pocket, why not put 'em somewhere that'll count? Ya gonna have to move out eventually. Think o' it as a starter fund."

Steve seemed to deflate immediately, his shoulder sagging as he set the jar down on his bed. "Ya know I don't like people helpin' me, Bucky. It's what drove Darce away. If I hadn't been sick – "

"We both know that she don't regret that," Bucky cut him off sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She did what she did 'cause ya were dyin', ya punk. If I'd had th' money, I'd o' done it, too. It _killed_ me that I couldn't, Steve. If it weren't for her, ya'd have died right here in this room with her curled into your side like ya were the fuckin' sunshine."

The blond stopped, blinking dumbly as he processed Bucky's words. "What'd'ya mean?"

"She was on ya every single day to make sure ya didn't stop breathin'." Bucky scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the stubble as he sighed deeply. "She cried on ya, she drooled on ya. Hell, I'm pretty sure she had her little hand 'neath your shirt so she could feel your heartbeat." He paused, his brows furrowed. "She took care o' ya. Even if that meant not takin' care of herself."

* * *

 _October 29, 1934 – Tampa, Florida_

It was a year ago that Steve was in the hospital. A year ago that Bucky had nearly carried Steve seventeen blocks to the hospital at her insistence. A year ago that he almost _died_.

Darcy cracked her head against the metal siding of her car, closing her eyes against tears. She knew it was a bad idea to pull out the pictures that she'd taken along in her meager suitcase, but she was missing her boys more than usual.

It was the last day of regular shows for the season and she was feeling nostalgic, sue her.

The train would simply travel from state to state in the off-months and set up wherever Mr. Ringling felt like there was a good chance of raking in some money. They wouldn't be regular pay according to Sparky, but she'd have food and a place to sleep, so Darcy didn't mind too much.

She was glad that she'd been keeping a journal of her travels. Maybe one day, she'd have her boys read it and they'd understand why she did what she'd had to do and see what kind of adventures she'd had. A year in the circus wasn't much compared to the others that called the train home, but this little girl from Brooklyn felt like she'd experienced the world. Mr. Ringling hadn't asked for a timeframe that she'd work for him and she thought he was working on a need-to-know basis for the most part. She'd figured when she decided to get off the train, he'd understand. He was good like that.

Darcy's thumb brushed over Bucky's face in the worn photograph that she held in her hands. It was taken at the last birthday party she'd had, when they'd surprised her. They were dancing, Bucky's hands on her waist and her arms wrapped around his neck like ivy, and her toes perched on his own feet.

She grinned stupidly. It had been taken a little over a year ago, but she'd felt like so much had changed since then.

Steve had almost died, she graduated school, she'd lost her virginity, she'd run away to the circus.

It sounded like a bad novel that no one would buy.

A bad novel that was the life of Darcy Ann Lewis.

She rolled her eyes, picking up another picture that had her boys laughing at the camera. It was when they were really just _boys_. A little after they became inseparable and Darcy a main staple. It showed two best friends that were ready to take on the world.

But living in the real world was hard. Selling papers and working at the market was easy. Eating fire and balancing on a tightrope when her feet had blisters for days was _hard_.

 _Definitely a bad novel_ , she snorted to herself.

She had a lot of thinking to do before the season restarted.

* * *

 _May 12, 1935 – Brooklyn, New York_

"Darcy! Stop it!"

"I can't fuckin' help it!"

Irina rolled her eyes, "Sparky's a bad influence on you. Such language for a lady."

"It's English, Irina. Learn it, love it."

Darcy simply _couldn't_ help it. She'd been on pins and needles since Mr. Ringling announced they were going back to Brooklyn and she had half a mind to make this her last stop.

She had more than enough saved up to make it to Russia if she decided to quit now and she knew Irina wouldn't blame her. Hell, Irina was planning on going back to Russia in September, maybe she could go with.

A letter had been written to Spot as soon as she decided to do this leg of the route and she knew that he'd be at her every show – especially since she'd already paid for his tickets and left them at the ticket booth since she knew she'd take a leave to see her. She wanted to swing by the hospital on Mrs. Rogers shift and give her a bit of money to make sure that everything was all right, too.

Six days.

Six days in Brooklyn.

Would it be enough? Or not?

"Deep breath, _lapochka_ ," Irina said, suddenly in front of her with her warm palms on Darcy's cheeks. "You're having an episode, again."

 _Again_.

These _episodes_ as Mr. Ringling's Doc said were supposed to mean that she as too stressed out. He'd recommended that she sit out for a few shows, but she – and Mr. Ringling – had valiantly refused. Sitting out of shows meant she didn't get paid. And if she didn't get paid, Sparky wouldn't get his cut. It was a messy business at times.

"Come back to me."

Darcy nodded, breathing hard in through her nose and letting it slip from her mouth slowly as her blue eyes refocused on Irina's face.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"That's _not_ something to apologize for," Irina countered fiercely, "You're not damaged, _lapochka._ Everyone has their demons." Smoothing the stray curls from Darcy's forehead, she soothed, "Now, what're you going to wear to see your brother? That pretty blouse from the shop in Jersey? Maybe with those kitten heels? Come, let's get you ready."

* * *

"Sweet Jesus, Darce, I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Still just as good lookin', though."

Spot laughed and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her gently. "Ya look real good, doll. They treatin' ya okay? No one I need to teach a lesson?"

They'd met at the dinner that was on the edge of Brooklyn that the boys _hated_ going to. She'd wanted to make sure that there was no chance she'd run into them before she was ready and Spot had agreed without hesitation.

He was dressed in his uniform and nearly made Darcy swoon, but she controlled it. He, on the other hand, had whistled low at her and playfully had a hand over his heart in appreciation.

"No, Spot. Everythin' has been pretty great. Learned a lot of stuff and I think I might be ready to come home." She paused, considering for a moment. "Until auditions open back up, anyway."

Spot eyed her warily. "Ya still want to go to Russia?"

"Been savin' up my money," she nodded, thanking the waitress when she dropped off her breakfast of flapjacks. "I still wanna go. I still got plans, ya know."

"I wanted to make sure ya weren't gonna stay in th' circus forever, doll," he smiled crookedly at her, digging into his own flapjacks and talking through the mouthful. "So, 'uck 'n 'eve been askin' – "

"For the love of God, finish chewing."

He glared at her and swallowed pointedly. "I _said_ Bucky and Steve been askin' 'bout ya since I got back. They always get antsy when I'm in town. Think you'll come runnin' home or somethin'."

"Well, they're not wrong this time."

"Ah, but _this time_ , I came runnin' home for ya, doll. Not the other way 'round. Want me to bring them on one o' th' nights?"

Darcy nodded. "On Wednesday. I'll be in full costume and I'll have a mask. I…I wanna see if they'll still recognize me."

He reached across the table and took her hand in his larger one. "They'd be stupider than they look if they didn't recognize ya, Darce."

"Hey!"

Spot shrugged. "Steve's pretty smart, I guess. Ya trump 'em both, though."

* * *

 _May 15, 1935 – Brooklyn, New York_

"Are you going for more of the aviary look?"

Darcy looked up, securing the feathered mask evenly across the bridge of her nose. "Huh?"

Irina gestured towards her improved outfit. "Many feathers, _lapochka_. You know that you cannot fly."

She looked down at the few feathers she'd sewn into her bustle and the larger feathers that spanned across her breasts on her bustier. It didn't seem too feathery to her, anyway. She'd only wanted her mask to match her costume, after all.

"Seems as if you are taking the phrase ' _fight or flight_ ' to heart, no?"

Darcy rolled her eyes, slathering on the red lip paint and pouting out her lips dramatically. "Seems like I've got 'em a little confused, then."

Changing the subject, Irina asked, "Are you going to be working with the silks tonight?"

"That was the plan. Hell, I hope I don't catch anythin' on fire or nothin'. Mr. Ringling would kill me."

"You're not going to catch anything on fire – "

"Well, I'd _hope_ not."

"Would you like me to make sure Lou has the silks secured to the beams?"

Darcy let out a thankful breath. "That would be swell, Riny. Thanks."

"Anything for you, _lapochka_."

* * *

"Spot, why're we even goin' to the damn circus?"

"Consider it a late birthday present, kid. Your ma said ya liked it last time – "

" _Last time_ we went for Darcy. In case ya haven't noticed, she's not exactly here."

Spot pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from decking the brunet and sighed heavily. Darcy had warned him that getting Bucky and Steve to the circus would be a feat in itself, but he figured it wouldn't be this hard. Hell, he used to herd all the newsies in Brooklyn, after all.

"Try to do somethin' nice for ya 'n this is how it goes – "

"No, Spot, I mean, thanks. Ya didn't have t' do anythin' for me." Bucky shook his head, a repentant smile ghosting his lips. "I'm sure Steve'll be excited, too."

"He meetin' us there?"

He nodded. "Wanted to stop by the hospital and give his ma some money to grab lunch. He should be there by the time we are."

The pair hustled down the streets of Brooklyn, making their way to the field by the tracks. Bucky had to admit that he _was_ excited to go to the circus, even if it was a sore subject. That was technically the last thing that they'd all done together before she hightailed it out of Brooklyn like a bat out of hell.

The balmy air of the countryside hit him in the face and he breathed deeply. Steve always seemed to have a better chance at breathing when he wasn't in the city and Bucky used to daydream about how the three of them would pack up and leave for the country one day. Have a house full of kids and be left alone on a farm somewhere where they could all just enjoy each other and the life they'd built.

"Startin' to think ya weren't gonna make it."

Shaking away his thoughts, Bucky smiled at the blond. "Told ya I'd be here, punk. Where'd Spot go?"

"Went t' grab the tickets." He cocked his head at his beast friend. "Ya feelin' okay, Buck? Ya look a little pale."

Bucky shook his head, chasing away the ghosts that had seemed to take up permanent residence in his head. The corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile, "Ya ready? I hope it's as good as last time."

"I'm sure it'll be great."

"C'mon, boys. The circus awaits."

* * *

The circus was everything that Steve remembered. He only wished that Darcy was sandwiched between him and Bucky on the narrow wooden seat, leaching their body heat because apparently she was incapable of producing her own.

Lights lit up the tent and he watched in awe as a tall brunette led the horses around the ring, softly saying commands that they didn't hesitate to obey. She was dressed from head to toe in a billowing white fabric that seemed to flow around her. She was beautiful, but Steve didn't have any problem looking away from her.

She wasn't Darcy.

Her hair might've been dark and curly, but she was too tall, her eyes too dark, her form too slender. He'd bet this girl would probably be meek and reserved and, honestly, he preferred loud, curvaceous brunettes that were short and stacked.

He preferred _Darcy_.

"A round of applause for our wonderful Irina!"

Steve clapped along dutifully with the rest of the crowd, not wanting to be a spoilsport. Her performance had been good, but animals like that normally didn't catch his interest.

"Up next, we have our resident fire-eater, Sparky, and his newest protégé, the Firecracker!"

"Hell yeah!" Bucky said from beside him, sitting forward in his seat, remembering how great this part of the show had been last time. "Wonder how high he can breathe fire this time."

A tall man with shaggy blond hair appeared in the ring and did a shtick about fire and how easy it was to control before he started demonstrating his abilities. Fire spewed from his mouth and ballooned above the crowd, shocked gasps filtering through.

"But," the man continued after he cleaned out his mouth with a swish of water, "It's not me that ya all came t' see, is it now?" Strips of silk cascaded from the top of the tent and a girl could be seen sliding down the center one. "Firecracker!"

Steve couldn't look away.

And not just because of her skills of sliding up and down ribbons of silk.

Her dark hair was tied back into a knot at the top of her head, a few curls drooping down to frame her face. Her thighs looked strong and supported her weight easily on the silk while her arms kept her afloat.

She flipped in the air twice before she ripped a match out of the garter that was stretched taunt on her thigh and blew out a swell of air, alighting a fireball that blossomed towards the ceiling of the tent.

"Isn't she a gem?" Sparky called out, flourishing his hand towards her. She spiraled down a few feet before she landed upright on the tight rope.

"She's a Firecracker!" The crowd answered in unison, obviously having seen the act before.

"That's straight! Show us what ya got, Firecracker!"

The girl pivoted on the rope and walked towards the middle. She sunk down into the splits, swinging herself underneath the rope before coming to rest exactly how she had before. Sparky threw a lacy umbrella at her and she caught it with ease, extending it above her head as she stood back up. Steve watched, completely dumbstruck as she extended her leg behind her and struck a match against the sole of her shoe, breathing fire right next to the little umbrella and managing not to catch it on fire.

His heart leapt into his chest when she took a misstep, one of her legs swinging out from beneath her as her knee caught her on the rope. She was hanging upside down and breathing fire into the air like it was nothing. She was graceful and poised as she swung down from the tightrope and stood next to Sparky, taking a deep bow.

"Sparky and the Firecracker!"

* * *

"Jesus, Steve, did ya see that girl? Thought my heart was gonna stop beatin'."

Spot chuckled beside them and the blond punched his shoulder. "She was somethin', Buck. Can't say I've ever seen anythin' like it."

"I'ma go see if I can meet her."

"Bucky – "

"Calm down, Rogers. Ya can come with me, if ya want. Gonna go hunt down that pretty thing with the horses – "

"I'll go with Buck."

Spot chuckled. "Meet ya back here later."

"C'mon, punk. Let's go meet that girl."

They trudged along slowly, mindful of the way Spot had seemingly melted into the crowd. These weren't exactly their kind of people, after all. There were small children and raucous adults mixed in with a few women that were very opinionated on the way the performers – particularly the females – had chosen to dress.

Steve didn't see an issue. Yes, he was a man and men liked to look at beautiful things – especially when they were half dressed. But he didn't see an issue with girls dressing to flatter their figure. Darcy used to do it constantly. Nearly gave Bucky a heart attack when she showed up in a wiggle dress to go grab dinner from that diner they hated. These performers weren't being vulgar or revealing; they were being _sexy_ because that's where the money was.

Bucky spotted her before he did and they weaved through the crowd to get to her. A large man was stationed at her side as she signed autographs for the little ones and Steve nearly crumpled when he saw the small gap between her front teeth.

"Buck, that's – "

"I know! Boy, is she somethin'," Bucky whistled low.

"What about – "

"I can look, punk. Doesn't mean I'm gonna act on it."

They hung back until all the kids had had their fill of fawning over her. Bucky snorted so hard he almost choked when a boy had petted the sequins on her hip and said that his dad had a girlfriend that wore something similar.

Steve and Bucky approached her slowly, catching the tail end of the conversation she was having with her bodyguard.

"Want me to hang back? Irina – "

"Go on and go, Lou. She'll need help gettin' everything back into the stable."

The man nodded and thumped away, leaving an awkward silence hanging between the trio.

Steve decided to try and break it. "Ya…ya were really somethin', ma'am. Can't say I've ever seen anyone move like that."

She smiled and unfolded her legs from underneath her, standing and coming up to Steve's chin. Her body was shaped like a perfect hourglass. Her bust was full, her waist was cinched, and her hips flared out in the most appealing way. Steve had a feeling that Bucky was drooling, but he couldn't tear himself away from her blue eyes to tell.

"Can't say that anyone's ever called me ' _ma'am_ ' before."

"Would ya prefer doll?" Bucky asked.

"Or sweetheart?" Steve countered.

"I'd prefer _baby_ ," she said huskily, her gaze flitting to Bucky before pinning Steve again. "Or _honey_."

Bucky was instantly behind her, his fingers digging into her ample hips. Steve's hands shook as he reached for her mask, watching as her eyes closed as he slipped it off over her head.

She blinked her blue eyes at him and whispered, "Hi, Stevie."

* * *

"You've been here the whole time?"

Darcy's fingers brushed against her kiss-bruised lips and nodded, curling up tighter in Bucky's lap. The sequins on her shorts were starting to dig into her skin, but she didn't want to move from the little cocoon they shared.

"I needed experience for the ballet. And I needed to see how I liked travelin'."

Lips pressed against her head and she leaned into the touch.

Steve knelt in front of her and took her small hands in his. "I'm so glad you're safe. But…but no more runnin' off without tellin' us, ya hear? Nearly killed us both."

"I'm sorry."

The blond shook his head, pressing a kiss to her wrist before standing. "Now, we gonna stay here with ya? Or ya gonna come back to the city for the night?"

"My car-mate cleared out for the night, so it'll just be us if you're interested – oof!"

Steve's lips were on hers and Bucky's hands helped anchor her in his lap. She could feel his hard arousal beneath her and she nearly squirmed off of his lap. Steve's fingers dug into the waistband of her shorts and peeled them off without fuss, leaving her in a pair of black cotton panties and her bustier.

"Lord, I missed ya," he groaned, his mouth trailing up her inner thigh and causing her to shiver. Wet kisses blazed his path and Bucky's mouth found her neck with ease.

Her breath was coming in pants and she ached down to her core. Her ribs were squeezed tight by her bustier and she whined in annoyance. Without missing a beat, Bucky sat her up and unlaced the back with deft fingers, flinging it across the train car as if it had done something to personally offend him.

Darcy's breasts spilt free and Bucky's hands were on her in a second, squeezing them until little mewls broke free from her throat. Her panties slipped down her thighs and were tossed aside.

"I don't have – "

"We're not goin' all the way, baby," Bucky assured her, giving a pink nipple a firm pinch. "This is all about _you_."

Steve pressed a kiss just below her belly button and his name fell from her lips of its own accord. His warm fingers spread the lips of her sex, holding her open like a flower as he gazed at the flushed pink within, his mouth salivating.

"I wanted t' do this so _bad_ last time," he groaned, licking a firm stripe up her sex that had her crying out. "Lord, ya taste delicious."

"She taste as sweet as she looks, punk?"

Steve licked his lips and shook his head. "Better. Sweet and salty and so _damned good_."

She arched her back as Steve lapped at her entrance, her hand tangled in his blond hair and trying not to suffocate him.

Darcy wasn't exactly sure how she ended up in Bucky's lap, her legs spread over Steve's shoulders as he knelt between her and Bucky's legs. He was taking her to heaven the way he was licking at her and she could feel her pleasure climbing.

"Ya gonna cum, baby?" Bucky asked, kissing the spot right below her ear that made her grunt in pleasure. "Ya gonna let Stevie lick it all up? Ya know he's dyin' to. Your sweet little cunt is pr'bly his favorite flavor."

Darcy's scream was swallowed by Bucky's mouth as Steve latched onto her clit the same time he forced two fingers into her and curled them upwards. Her entire world exploded into lights and heavy breathing. Tendrils of pleasure radiated out from her core and she wasn't sure if she was even a person anymore or just a stuttering quim.

Her eyes fluttered open as soon as Bucky pulled away and she met Steve's gaze as he wiped her release off of his chin.

"You're _fuckin_ ' delicious, honey."

* * *

They were a mess a limbs when Darcy finally drifted off to sleep. Steve and him had made sure that they'd worn her out so she would fall asleep early, but the sun was just barely starting to rise.

She was piled on top of his chest with Steve fitted against her back, making sure she kept warm as the sweat cooled on her body.

"She came back."

It was a hushed sound, but Bucky heard it all the same. His fingers threaded through Steve's that rested on Darcy's hip and he squeezed gently. "Told ya she would, punk. She's our girl."

He was quiet for a beat. "She still wants to go to Russia."

"It's her dream, Steve. We can't ask her to give it up."

"Being away from her for a year almost killed me. Killed _us_."

Bucky sighed, pressing a kiss to the tangled curls of Darcy's hair. Being without her had been hell, but they'd made it through because they knew she was coming back. She hadn't really abandoned them, just taken a vacation away, took time to find herself. And she still came back to them.

Would Russia be any different? Maybe. Maybe she'd write them letters and she'd come home occasionally. Maybe he and Steve would join the army and travel around, always try to be by her whenever possible. They had to have a fighting chance and by golly he and Steve were fighters.

"We'll make it work. It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it." Bucky brushed her hair from her temple, dragging his fingers down her cheek gently. " _She's_ worth it."

* * *

 **Be sure to leave a review!**

 **~Grace**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 _April 6, 1935 – Brooklyn, New York – Rogers' Residence_

Having Darcy home was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Steve and Bucky had let her know that they planned on moving in together and that she was more than welcome to join them, too, but Darcy seemed to have other plans.

After telling Mr. Ringling that she was leaving, she'd packed up her train car and went back to the Dorsetts' only to find out that they'd adopted someone new. They'd packed up all her things and put them in storage, not sure when she was coming home.

Mrs. Rogers had opened her home and let Darcy sleep on the couch with the understanding that it would only be temporary. Which, it completely was. She had plans to go to the city when the auditions were being held again and she knew it would crush her boys, but it was her _dream_. Working with Mr. Ringling only made her thirst for the stage even more. Without her boys, though, it would be difficult.

"Darce? Ya okay?"

Darcy looked up from her coffee cup and gave Steve a small smile. "Yeah. Just thinkin'. Ya goin' out with Buck tonight?"

"Got called in for a late shift at the factory," he answered, shrugging one shoulder. "Thought maybe we could do somethin' instead."

She cocked her head to the side. "Like what?"

"Go to a show? Watch a game – "

"Ya don't have to take me anywhere, Stevie. I'm okay if we just stay home." She paused and gave him a filthy smile. "Unless you're afraid to be alone with me."

Steve blushed down to the roots of his hair and shook his head bashfully. He shuffled his feet together and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "'m worried that I'm gonna get ya in trouble, Darce. We're not married or anythin'…what if…what if ya get pregnant?"

"Steve – "

"I can't support ya like Bucky can," he sighed. "Ya wouldn't have the same kinda life if ya were Mrs. Rogers instead o' Mrs. Barnes. I'll get sick on ya, honey. Buck's in it for the long haul, but I don't know how many years I got left."

Darcy blinked her blue eyes. Once. Twice. She didn't understand. Something was definitely not clicking in her mind.

"Are you…are ya breakin' up with me, Steve?"

"Darcy – "

"'Cause it sure as hell sounds like ya are – "

" _Language_."

" – and I'm not gonna stand for it." Standing up from the table, she walked until she was toe-to-toe with him, glaring at him with enough heat that he instantly wilted. "I love _you_ , Steven Grant Rogers. If I wind up pregnant, then I'll be one of the luckiest gals in Brooklyn. You're…you're my man, Stevie. You and Bucky are all mine and once I'm back from Russia, we're gonna get married and have all the babies ya both want."

"Honey…" he swallowed noisily, his hands going to her hips and squeezing gently. "Babies?"

Her hand cupped his cheek softly and she smiled. " _Babies_ , Steve." Placing her hands on his, she moved them to her flat stomach. "I want your babies right here. Yours and Bucky's. I don't care what everyone else thinks; I want a family with ya both."

His lips crashed down on hers and she squealed when his hands went around her waist and squeezed her butt roughly.

"I'm gonna give ya a houseful o' kids, honey," he promised raggedly when he tore his mouth away from hers. "A houseful o' 'em."

* * *

 _July 23, 1935 – New York City, New York_

"Lord, she's takin' so long."

"Buck – "

"What if somethin' happened? What if she needs – "

"Buck, there were a dozen other people in line before her," Steve reassured him, placing his hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. "They all have'ta audition, too."

It had been a chore getting Darcy to agree to let them come along to her audition – not that they could watch. That theatre was sealed up tighter than Mrs. Barnes chocolate stash and they were stuck on the curb waiting for her to come back out.

"What're we gonna do when she comes back?"

Steve shrugged. "I dunno. Spend time with her until she's gotta leave? I mean – "

"No, no, no. I _meant_ when she gets back from Russia. Or wherever the hell she ends up."

The blond thought about it for a moment. Discussing the future was something they each normally did with Darcy, not together. It was heavily implied that they'd all end up together somehow, though.

"Get a house in th' country, maybe? Somewhere away from pryin' eyes."

Bucky smirked. "Have her barefoot and pregnant most o' th' time."

"How many kids ya want, Buck?"

"A couple," he shrugged, kicking a rock as he stuffed his hands in his pocket. He had a stupid grin on his face. "I never really thought 'bout kids 'til her. Didn't think I wanted any. But now that's all that's on my mind half the time." He shook his head, blue meeting blue. "I think we could have it, Stevie. You, me, Darcy. A half a dozen kids in the middle of the country. It'd be better for your asthma."

"Ya really think ya can stand t' share her with me? Even when there's kids?"

"You're my best friend, punk. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather share our girl with."

Just then, the doors to the theatre burst open and Darcy barreled out. Her dark air whipped behind her as she launched herself into Bucky's arms, nearly toppling them both.

"I made it! I got it!" She shrieked, kissing Bucky full on the mouth before she leapt out of his arms and kissed Steve senseless.

Bucky stared at her with a dumbfounded expression, his hands still in the air from holding her. She was like a tornado that ripped through their conversation and left him grasping for straws.

"Ya…what?"

"I got in," she said clearly, her eyes alight with excitement. She had one arm wrapped around Steve's waist and she was huddled under his arm. He looked near as stupid as Bucky did. "I'm going to Russia."

Bucky blinked. And then he was taking her into his arms and swinging her around like a monkey, yelling at the top of his lungs.

"I knew ya could do it!"

* * *

 _August 16, 1935 – Brooklyn, New York – Rogers' Residence_

"What's all this – _oh_."

Candles littered the small apartment that was shrouded in darkness. Curtains billowed by the open window and Darcy shivered as she shut the door behind her.

The apartment looked empty, but she knew better. Steve and Bucky liked surprising her sometimes and since Mrs. Rogers was working a double at the hospital, they had the place to themselves.

Hands smoothed her curls from her face and she immediately knew it was Bucky from the calluses on his fingers. He worked so hard that sometimes she thought he'd keel over, but he always came back to her. The cotton of her cardigan slipped down her shoulders as she toed off her kitten heels, the bag of cookies in her hands nearly forgotten.

"Anyone tell ya that ya take too long?" The rasp in his voice nearly made her knees buckle and she was thankful for the arm he'd wound around her waist.

Her voice was too breathy for her liking when she replied. "Didn't think anyone was waitin' up for me."

His right hand trailed to the waistband of her skirt and she squirmed as it dipped below, sliding underneath the cotton of her panties as well. Her skin was soft and warm and he wanted to mark it up in a twisted sense of ownership.

"Ya leave tomorrow, baby."

"I know," she whimpered, running her fingers down his arm and closing them around his wrist. " _Lord_ , Bucky."

His fingers deftly maneuvered themselves between her folds, a pleased grunt leaving his throat when he found her slick. He manipulated her swollen bud and had her hips bucking against him for more. Crescent shaped marks were dug into his skin and he swallowed her cry when he forced his middle finger inside her, his thumb playing her clit like a fiddle.

Darcy shook like a leaf and he had no problem keeping her up when her knees gave out. His hand left her panties and he swung her up into his arms with an arm under her back and the other under her knees. Bucky's lips never ceased movement against hers and her hand found his hair, tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and securing his mouth to hers.

"Can't let ya leave without a proper goodbye."

She tugged her mouth away from Bucky's and spotted Steve standing in the archway of the kitchen, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Stevie…"

The soles of his feet made soft sounds as he padded across the worn wood of the floor, coming to a stop beside Darcy. Fingertips ghosted up her bare thigh, making her breath hitch with want.

"How 'bout we take this to the bedroom?"

"Late birthday present?" She asked breathily.

Bucky snorted. "Obviously me and the punk didn't give ya a good enough present then, baby."

Time wasn't very relative as she was set down onto the nest of blankets they'd made on the floor of Steve's room. Hands clutched at her soft skin and made her feel wanted and desired and _loved_. She needed this with her boys.

"James Buchanan Barnes, if ya don't get inside me this instant, I'm gonna _scream_."

Feather light touches and murmured filthy promises where building her up slowly and she felt like she was going to explode if she didn't get some well-needed friction and _fast_.

He blinked hazily at her, "Ya want me – "

" _Inside_ me. Like, right now, jerk."

Bucky hadn't had the pleasure – as Steve called it – to be inside of Darcy just yet. Normally, it was him holding her and whispering dirty things into her ear as the blond made her scream. He was well acquainted with her breasts and how to tweak her nipples in just the right way or how to coerce her clit into giving her an orgasm that left her cross-eyed. But being inside her was something he'd only dreamt about.

"Better give her what she wants, Buck," Steve said, grinning as his hands went to Darcy's breasts instead.

It's not like he had to be told twice.

Bucky was ripping open the foil of the rubber and rolling it down the shaft of his cock before Darcy could blink – nevermind that he was able to get undressed without her noticing. Her back was flush against the soft blankets, the blond situated on his side, mouthing the side of her throat enticingly. Bucky's hands smoothed down her hips, taking her skirt and panties off, flinging them away.

"Ya sure 'bout this, baby?"

Steve pulled away from her, but she was gazing at Bucky heatedly. "Yes."

His hands cupped the back of her knees and pulled her down where he wanted her. Her cunt was so pretty and pink and he couldn't wait to make her scream. Scream for _him_.

He nudged the head of his cock along her slit, circling her clit before he set it against her small opening. Her breath hitched as he slowly sunk into her, his body falling forward and catching himself on his right hand next to her head.

" _Fuck_ , Darcy."

Small hands smoothed their way up his ribs and around his back as her thighs cradled his hips, pulling him even deeper.

" _James_."

He growled. Literally _growled_ and she shook around him. Having his name fall from her lips made something inside of him snap and he simply couldn't be gentle.

Sitting back on his legs, he pulled her up his thighs and dug his hands into her hips, forcing himself inside of her as hard as he could. Her hands covered his and her mouth was open in a silent scream.

"Bucky – ya gotta be gentle – "

" _Can't_ ," he grunted back at Steve, thrusting his cock into her tight sleeve a bit harder, resulting in a breathless squeal.

"Bucky – "

"Fuck!" Darcy bit out, her body taut with want. " _Harder_ , James! Please!" She screamed when he complied, bucking her hips up to gain more friction. "Steve, touch my – _oh yes_!"

Steve's fingers circled her clit and brought her to such an orgasm that her voice failed and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Bucky felt her flutter around her, but he kept going, feeling the flutter stutter to a stop before he roared her name and forced his cock as deep inside of her as it could go.

His body slumped and his head fell against her shoulder.

" _Fuck_ ," Steve whispered, earning breathless giggles from the both of them.

Bucky pulled back and smoothed the hair away from her face, inspecting her. When she opened her eyes, his heart lurched at seeing tears gathered. "Fuck, Darcy. Baby, I didn't hurt ya, did I?"

She shook her head, her voice raspy when she spoke. "Never had an orgasm like that. Kinda new for me."

He gave her a filthy smile. "How 'bout we try for a few more?"

* * *

 _August 17, 1935 – New York City, New York_

A small suitcase and a messenger bag was all that she could carry comfortably. Bucky had urged her to bring something bigger, but the plane could only accommodate so much per person.

Darcy clutched their hands in each of hers, her nerves a frayed mess. As excited as she was, she was also practically paralyzed by fear.

"Baby, everything's gonna be fine," Bucky assured her, squeezing her left hand tightly.

The roar of the plan was almost deafening, but she locked her knees so she wouldn't crumple. Her gait was a little bowlegged from the night before and she had to fight to keep the blush from her cheeks. Steve's hand was at the small of her back and she leaned into him for strength.

They must have been an odd picture; a girl being comforted by two men that were certainly not family.

The silk of the ribbons against her wrists burnt. She itched to take them off, ask them what their words were, but if they matched…she'd never leave. And they wouldn't let her go.

"We got somethin' for ya."

Darcy peered into Steve's blue eyes questioningly, her head tilted to the side. "Oh yeah? And last night was just for fun?"

"Yeah, honey," he replied, a blush of his own tinting his cheeks. He gestured to Bucky. "We hope ya like 'em."

"Ya didn't have to get me anythin' – "

Bucky shrugged, pulling a set of small boxes out of his pants pocket, one slightly larger than the other. The bigger one was passed to her and she accepted in gingerly.

"What…"

"'Cause ya wear those ribbons all the time," the blond shrugged. "We didn't think they'd let ya were 'em at the ballet."

Darcy lifted one of the metal bands nestled in the box. There was a miniscule clasp at the middle and she tinkered with it for a second, trying to get it open. Calloused hands took the bangle and had it open, revealing an inscription on the inside.

 _You are a spark of light_

Bucky fiddled with the other one and handed it to her as well.

 _In the infinite night_

Tears welled up in her blue eyes and she threw her arms around them both, mindful not to squish Steve's small frame with her curves or Bucky's bulk. She kissed them full on the mouth, one right after the other, not caring about wandering eyes or smudged lipstick.

"I made these, too," the brunet said when he pulled away, opening the smaller box and revealing two matching steel bands.

So, of course, Darcy's waterworks started once more.

"You…you _made_ these? Mine, too?" She blubbered as they chuckled.

Bucky smirked smugly, "Hadda scrounge up the extra steel at the factory, but I finally got enough. Ya know…" he paused, his face losing the cockiness and confidence. It was endearing to see Bucky so unsure of himself. "Ya know we're in this together, right?"

"You're my boys," she sniffled. "I'm gonna come home to ya both, I promise." She wiped at the tears that had gathered under her eyes and gave them a watery smile.

"I know ya will, honey."

"I love you," she said, meeting both their gazes in turn. The sincerity and seriousness was conveyed in her voice and she almost giggled when Bucky swooped her up.

"I love ya, too, baby," he sighed against the top of her head. He held her at arms length and rolled his eyes as he snarked, "Fuckin' took ya long enough."

" _Language_."

"Didn't hear ya sayin' anythin' either, ya jerk!"

They were a mess of limbs as they said their goodbyes, Darcy sandwiched in the middle. It wasn't until Steve cupped her cheek and met her gaze that she realized the depth of what was happening. What her leaving was doing to them. What the rings that Bucky had made _truly_ meant.

Steve's thumb smoothed along her plump bottom lip and he spoke softly, but surely. "Ya'd better come back to us, honey. You're our girl. When ya come home, we'll have a house and jobs – _better jobs_ – and you'll have everythin' ya need. We'll take care o' ya." He smiled. "We're with ya through all of this."

"'Til the end of the line," Bucky nodded.

* * *

 _August 18, 1935 – Brooklyn, New York_

"Did we…did we propose to her?"

Watching Darcy leave had nearly torn his heart out, but the difference this time was that he knew that she was coming back. Steve was going to work like hell to be able to afford the house in the country that he and Bucky had dreamt about with their girl. Darcy had had such a rough start in life, but he wanted to make the rest of it go smoothly.

Bucky looked up from his hands, an expression of alarm plastered across his face. "What?"

"We're wearin' rings, Buck – "

"But _she's_ not – "

"Do ya really think that matters?"

Bucky was quiet. It made sense, but it was a big step. A _huge_ step. Marriage? He was only eighteen, but people were getting married younger than him. Steve was right, though. Did it matter? Not really. She was _theirs_. Nothing would change that. Nothing _could_ change that.

He finally smiled, a full-toothed grin that had the blond smiling, too.

"Looks like we're engaged, punk."

Steve shook his head. "You're wearin' it on the wrong hand." Grabbing Bucky's hand, he tried to pry the ring off of his right hand, only to end up grunting in frustration. It was like it was glued in place. "What in the world – "

"It's like Darce's bracelets." Bucky squeezed the ring in just the right way and pulled, showing Steve before sliding it back on. "But I want it on my right hand."

"Why?"

"Darcy's always on my right and your left. Makes sense we'd wear our rings that way."

Steve thought about it for a moment before he barked a laugh. "You're such a sap."

The brunet threw a pillow at his face, crowing with victory when it hit him. "Thought ya had better reflexes than that, punk!" He got up and swiped the pillow of the spot on the floor where it had landed, smacking Steve upside the head with it once more. He laughed at his undignified expression and tossed the pillow aside. "Aw, c'mon. I was just messin' 'round. Don't be sore, punk."

He wasn't prepared for Steve to lunge at him and knock him clear off his feet, so it was a surprise when he was flat on his back with air trying to be sucked into his lungs.

"Dammit, punk!" He wheezed, sounding more like the man he was scolding rather than himself. "For s-someone so s-small, ya sure d-do pack a punch."

"That's what I've been tellin' ya!" Steve exclaimed, pushing himself off of Bucky and noting – with just a bit of smugness – that he was only slightly winded. "Lord, Buck, _we're_ engaged! Two scrawny guys from Brooklyn – "

"Scrawny?" He scoffed, getting to his feet and looking down at himself. "Speak for yourself, Stevie. I don't got any issues in the brawn department."

"Just the brain," he quipped back, amused by his best friend's scowl.

"I miss Darcy."

It was a shared sentiment. The schedule wasn't set – they had no idea when she'd come home. She'd left all her savings that she didn't need with Steve and he added it to the jar under his bed. It was strange not having a plan.

It was strange all the way around.

Steve sighed, plopping down on the threadbare couch next to Bucky, his hands slapping against his knobbly knees.

"Me, too."

* * *

 **Leave a review letting me know what you thought of this chapter!**

 **~Grace**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 _August 19, 1935 – Saint Petersburg, Russia_

It wasn't cold, but it definitely wasn't warm.

Darcy was used to fall in Brooklyn, used to the change of the weather and the colors of the trees; Russia was different.

People weren't as friendly or as temperamental as the people at home. They didn't seem to care one way or another and it made it difficult when she was trying to ask for directions.

 _Learning Russian might've helped, dummy_ , she thought icily.

Hailing a taxi after she'd landed had been easy – she was real swell at that in New York – and she'd handed over the address of her school, slightly bewildered when the cab driver had only driven a few miles and barked orders out to her when they'd stopped.

She figured that what he'd said was along the lines of ' _I can only go so far, you'll have to walk the rest of the way_ ', but her minimal experience with foreign languages had her at a loss.

So, as her sensible flats dug into her feet and the sun slowly set, she was beginning to get more than a little worried. Not to mention frustrated. She was still a Brooklyn girl at heart, of course.

Up the street, she spotted a short man coming out of a shop and she rejoiced – internally, because their was no way this scowl was coming off of her face any time soon.

"Excuse me! Hey! _Excuse_ me!" She yelled, running as fast as her suitcase and sore feet would allow her. It was probably a sight, but propriety could fuck right off for all she cared.

The man turned and gave her a creepy smile. Up close, she could tell that he must've been in his 40s and he was only slightly taller than Darcy. Round was one word to describe him. Beady eyes, sallow skin were a few others.

Honestly, she was beginning to regret her decision to flag him down.

Well, it's not like she could chicken out now.

"May I help you?" His voice was accented and she had a hard time placing it.

She nodded, her cheeks a little pink. "I'm lost, I think. I'm lookin' for this address." She fumbled with her coat and pulled out the slip of paper, handing it to him. "Do you know where this is?"

His small eyes poured over the address before he nodded tightly. "You wish to go to the school?"

"I'm enrolling in the mornin' – "

"You're very close. I'll get you there safely."

She nearly wilted in relief. "Thank you, Mr…" she floundered.

"Zola. Arnim Zola."

* * *

 _November 3, 1935 – Brooklyn, New York_

"I got it."

Bucky looked up from stocking the shelf of canned peas. His brow was furrowed. "What?"

"I got it," Steve repeated, moving a bag of apples.

The brunet rolled his eyes. "I heard _that_ , punk. I meant, what'd'ya get?"

It was a slow day at the market. Bucky had spent most of the day restocking and he was almost finished, more than happy to close up early and head home, taking Steve with him.

"The illustrator gig at the publishin' house."

Steve had graduated early and he'd started looking for work almost immediately. He'd wanted to save up money and help his ma with the bills as much as he could. When he had a little more money saved, he was going to go to school ofr art, but that would take a while.

"I'm proud o' ya, punk," he said, grinning at him. "Help your ma with the rent; we can wait t' get our own place."

Steve stilled for a minute. "The money Darcy left…I wanna put that towards the house in the country. When she gets home, I want us to have our own place."

"Not the apartment?" Bucky clarified.

"Not the apartment," Steve agreed. He'd thought about it more and more as Darcy had been gone. "I don't want her t' have t' worry about anythin', Buck."

A tap on the door and the flutter of mail caused Bucky to haul himself up from his place on the floor. Lumbering towards the door, he swiped up the mail, flicking through it quickly, grinning like a loon when he spotted a battered postcard.

"Is that from our girl?" The blond asked, spotting the smile.

Budging him over from his place on the counter, Bucky hoped up next to him, showing him the postcard.

"That Russia?"

He snorted. "I hope so, punk. Seein' as that's were it's postmarked from."

They looked at the architecture of St. Petersburg, eyes wide at the difference.

"Wonder if she'll ever wanna come back to Brooklyn," Bucky mused.

"'Course she will. That's where we are."

* * *

 _November 16, 1935 – St Petersburg, Russia – The Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet_

First position. Fifth position. First position. Third position. Repeat.

Repeat.

 _Repeat_.

Darcy's arm arced above her head and she sunk into a plie seamlessly.

"Yes! Very good, Ms. Lewis!"

It had been absolute hell relearning all the things she had to in order to be successful. The positions had come back easily, but everything else was a blur of books and classes and she found herself missing her boys more and more.

If everything went well, she would be performing at the opera and then, hopefully, on her way home to Brooklyn.

She sent them postcards as often as she could get away, but living in such close quarters with other people made getting away unnoticed difficult. It wasn't like she was living under a microscope, but she hated explaining herself. Especially to girls that constantly made noise about her shape. Curves weren't exactly highly sought after to be a ballerina – and having a rack like hers made it more trying to find her center of balance – but she was quickly rising through the ranks as a skilled dancer.

She'd had to get headshots done for companies around the school. She'd gotten dolled up and made sure to send copies back to Steve and Bucky, hoping that they arrived and weren't lost in the mail.

"You would all do well to observe Ms. Lewis," the instructor said, her face glowing with pride at her new pupil.

Darcy turned red and continued with her exercises, ignoring the glares of the other girls.

"First position!"

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

 _January 11, 1936 – St. Petersburg, Russia_

Coffee was something that was universally hard to mess up.

The smell, the taste, the _feeling_.

However, Russia had apparently failed miserably in their adaption of coffee.

Darcy was used to Brooklyn coffee – black, slightly watered down, but still strong enough to knock her on her ass and wake her the hell up.

The small café that she'd found was seriously lacking in the coffee department and she groaned each time she asked for a refill. She knew it wasn't polite to protest something so silly, but coffee was coffee and it simply _had_ to be made correctly for one to enjoy.

She'd finished her first semester at school and was getting ready to start the second one. Going home for Christmas hadn't been an option, so she'd bought a few things from local stores – a switchblade for Bucky, a leather sketchbook for Steve, and a new set of dog tags for Spot since she knew he was going overseas soon – and shipped them from the nearest post office. Steve and Bucky had sent her pictures of themselves at Coney Island, being sure to have a paper heart with her name on it in it.

 _"Buck, don't make him ride it if he doesn't wanna."_

 _The brunet smirked at her, stuffing his hands in his pockets and doing his best to look chastened. "I guess he just doesn't feel man enough to ride it, doll."_

 _It was like pulling teeth trying to get the pair of boys to agree to ride anything at Coney Island and Darcy was at her wits end. Between Steve wanting to ride all the kiddy rides and Bucky wanting to ride everything that could potentially kill Steve, she had no idea which way was up._

 _"It has nothin' to do with that – "_

 _"James Buchanan Barnes, ya stop that right now!" Darcy hissed, stomping her foot to get her point across. "I've gone on everythin' you've asked me to, now it's Stevie's turn to pick."_

 _Bucky pouted. "He's gonna pick a slow ride."_

 _Steve puffed up his chest and pointed at a ride. "Let's do that one. The seats are big enough that I can sit between ya and Darce."_

 _Darcy looked up at the huge rollercoaster warily. "Ya wanna ride the Cyclone?"_

 _"No," Steve admitted immediately. "But if I don't, I'm gonna get grief from that jerk all day."_

 _"Stevie – "_

 _"Finally!" Bucky cheered, grabbing Darcy's hand and dragging her towards the rollercoaster. "For the record, I'm not makin' ya do shit, though – "_

 _"_ Language _– "_

 _" – you're doin' it to show off to our girl."_

 _Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna regret this."_

Darcy smiled at the memory, remembering that Steve had thrown up everything he'd eaten – which was mainly cotton candy and hotdogs – all over Bucky's shoes. She hoped that they didn't have a repeat when they went again.

"How lovely to see you again."

Darcy blinked up from her miserable excuse for a cup of coffee and met the eyes of the man that had helped her find her school. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment before she stumbled out, "Nice to see ya, Mr. Zola."

"I take it everything is going well at school?" He asked, pulling out the chair across from her and taking a seat.

Fighting back a cringe, she nodded. "Everything's real swell."

Mr. Zola smiled at her and adjusted his glasses. "You know, I have a few connections with the opera house if you're ever interested – "

"I'm not lookin' for a handout," she said frostily, not meaning to let her Brooklyn indignation surface so much. It was one thing to be friendly, but she wanted to make her own way in this new city.

He shook his head. "Not a 'handout' per say. More of a leg up, if you will. Being a distinguished dancer in St. Petersburg can be difficult if you don't have right connections." He paused, watching her intently as if he was studying her. "I happen to have those connections. The opera house is putting on a show in the spring. It's still early enough that I can sway the auditions – "

"Thank you, Mr. Zola, but I'm gonna have to pass," she cut him off. The smile plastered on her face felt fake, but she hoped it seemed genuine to him. Being pretentious wasn't one of her strong suits, but obviously it was one of his. "I've got a lot of work to do and I plan on going home for the summer – "

"Not the spring? There's a break between studies, no?" He grinned when she didn't respond. "The summer is an ideal time to study and get ahead. Especially when there's no one here."

"I…"

"Speak with your instructors. If you want to get ahead to perform, they'll know the best ways."

* * *

 _February 2, 1936 – Brooklyn, New York – Rogers' Residence_

"You're gonna burn 'em!"

"I can't burn 'em!"

"Well, ya sure as hell are tryin' to find a way!"

" _Language_."

"Oh, shuddup, ya punk."

Teaching Steve how to cook was becoming a disaster of epic proportions. Bucky had tried to teach him the way his ma had, but Steve could burn water.

He was literally _burning_ water.

Bucky grabbed the boiling pot off the stove and went to the sink, dumping out the scalding water. The noodles that he was trying to boil were stuck to the bottom in a brunt mess.

Placing the pot on the counter, Steve looked inside sheepishly and offered a small, "Oops."

The taller man ran a hand over his face in exasperation. "Spaghetti is one o' the easiest things t' cook – "

"Well, it doesn't seem like it!"

Steve hated being bad at things. He hated when people told him he couldn't do things or that he didn't understand. He was sick, not stupid. But cooking was _definitely_ not his career of choice.

"What on earth is all the racket?"

The boys turned towards the doorway and met the amused gaze of Mrs. Rogers. They both offered her grins that had her shaking her head.

"Just tryin' to learn how to cook, Ma."

" _Failing_ to learn how to cook would be a better phrase," Bucky interjected, dodging Steve's elbow that was nudged at him. "Didn't mean t' wake ya up, Mrs. Rogers."

She smiled. "It's all right, James." Turning to her son, she asked, "Did you find the package I left by the door? It's from Russia – "

Bucky and Steve tore out of the kitchen, nearly knocking over the small woman. Bucky slid across the worn carpet to the beat up package and hefted it into his arms. Paper went everywhere as he tore it open and they grappled for the letter that they knew was inside. Steve happened to grab it first and he unfolded it, holding it between him and Bucky so they could both read.

 _Steve & Bucky,_

 _Merry Christmas! I'm sorry that I'm not there to celebrate it with you. Plane tickets are awful pricy this time of year. Did you get the photographs I sent a few months ago? I don't know how long it takes for mail to get there. I sent a couple in this just in case._

Steve rifled through the box and pulled out a few wallet-sized photos and grinned stupidly at them. Darcy was all done up with her curls wild over her shoulder and what he assumed were bright red lips since the photos were black and white.

 _I miss you both so much! I'm hoping that I can come home this summer. I'm saving up for a ticket. Russia is so much different than Brooklyn and I miss it. I've met a few nice people, but not many._

 _Coffee here is the worst!_

They both chuckled, knowing that coffee to Darcy was like vodka to an alcoholic.

 _I hope you like your gifts. And Bucky, don't use yours to start fights!_

Steve nudged Bucky, "It's like she doesn't even know us."

 _Only use it to finish Steve's if you have to._

"She knows us better than ya think, punk."

 _I love you both with all my heart. Stay safe and I'll see you soon._

 _All my love,_

 _Darcy xo_

* * *

 _March 24, 1936 – St. Petersburg, Russia – The Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet_

"You know why you are here, no?"

Darcy blinked up at her instructor, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. "Not really, Mrs. Riesa."

The tall woman nodded to her, contemplating her next move. It wasn't often that Americans graced the academy – even less so when they were actually _graceful_. Darcy knew that she was different than the other girls. She was diligent and she worked extremely hard for everything that she had.

Darcy Lewis was an orphan from New York. She was a newsie by the time she was five years old. She met James Buchanan Barnes when she was ten years old. She watched Spot leave her to join the army when she was only eleven years old, but she'd met Steven Grant Rogers just a few months after. She was used to things happening oddly, and being pulled into Mrs. Riesa's – the _head instructor_ – office during the height of practicing for an upcoming show, she knew the conversation would have a melodramatic undertone.

"I've been watching you since you arrived, Ms. Lewis. It's…not often that we have such a quality of dancer from America." The woman pursed her lips and sat on the other side of the large oak desk. Slim fingers rapped against the smooth wood as her brown eyes roamed curiously over the girl. "I can say, with complete faith, that you are wasting your time here. You want fame, no?"

"I-I want a career," Darcy stuttered.

"A career. Yes, being a prima ballerina would definitely be a career. Our academy has not had one in…many decades now. I assume you know of the honor?"

"Of bein' a prima ballerina?" At the woman's nod, she continued. "It's for dancers that are…that stand out above the rest. I don't have the skills – "

 _Whack_!

"Do _not_ speak of yourself that way."

"Did you just hit – did you just hit that against the _desk_?"

Darcy was a little scared, but also slightly impressed at how her instructor was conducting herself. She seemed like such a put together and the sight of her slamming a pointe shoe against the solid wood of the desk disgraced that image slightly.

"The owner of the opera house in the city has been asking about an American dancer. And since you are the only one that is here…" she shrugged, a small grin on her thin lips. "Either you are drawing a crowd on your own or someone is helping. Either way, it would be my pleasure to help you prepare for your first show."

Blue eyes blinked stupidly. _What now_?

"I'm sorry, I must've heard ya wrong." She shook her head, feeling her curls bounce around her face. "Show? Prepare? _What_?"

Mrs. Riesa laughed, a tinkling sound. "My dear, surely you understand the weight of performing at the opera – "

"What why would I be performing at the opera? I've only been here since August – "

"Time is nothing in comparison to your technique. If you were looking for a career in ballet, you've found it, Mrs. Lewis. Your performance can be your step into a high honor. A _prima ballerina_."

"When…when is the show?"

"August. I've taken the liberty of securing a ticket home for you for two months starting in mid May. You will have enough time to spend with your family and return to put the finishing touches on your show."

Darcy's mind swam. "W-why would I go home? If the show is so close – "

"Your emergency contacts are two men that do not share your surname." A sly smile crossed her face as she stood, smoothing down the front of her skirt absentmindedly. "I have a feeling that your first show will not be your last. The opera is known to travel – I'd rather you have time for your…family when you're able." She walked around the desk and squeezed Darcy's shoulder reassuringly. "You will do great things, Ms. Lewis."

* * *

 _April 2, 1936 – St. Petersburg, Russia_

A gentle breeze filtered through the busy city. Small children ran and played in a nearby park while their parents observed. The streets bustled with cars and people making their way to various destinations. Delectable smells wafted into the air from the bakery in the intersection.

Russia was beautiful.

But Darcy was a Brooklyn girl through and through.

She preferred the noise and grime and the Italian bakery and the diner and everything else that was _Brooklyn_.

Somehow, the small café that she'd ventured to when she first arrived had become a staple in her routine. The bad coffee had become normal. The blisters lining her feet and the bandages wrapped around her bruised toes hardly hurt anymore.

It was like Darcy was going through the motions, doing her duty, but a piece of her was missing.

Steve and Bucky were missing.

As affronted as she was that Mrs. Riesa had arranged her flight home, she was also ridiculously grateful. The pattern she was falling into was beginning to be comfortable, but she wasn't too interested in comfortable. She'd liked the circus, traveling around and being somewhere new every week. The opera house would provide that if she did well enough.

The coffee in her cup had turned cold and she gritted in disgust. Her thumb ran under her bottom lip, wiping away the liquid that had gathered. She rolled her eyes at the smudge of lipstick that had transferred to her skin, blood red against the stark white of her skin.

Steve was always a blushing mess when he'd realized that he wore the prints of her lips on his skin. On the other hand, Bucky wore them like a badge of honor, valiantly refusing to have them rubbed off.

She longed for the time when she could leave her marks on them and not care who was looking.

* * *

 _April 27, 1936 – Brooklyn, New York_

"Stevie! Let's go!"  
The blond in question looked himself over in the mirror, sighing when the hair that he'd just smoothed down stuck right back up again. He tightened his suspenders and rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, buttoning the cuff on his right wrist and hesitating on the left.

 _Can I help you?_

His fingers absently traced the words, knowing full well that he belonged to Darcy, words or not. The thought of her ribbons had been on his mind more and more. Why did she have to hide both wrists? She'd worn them for as long as he'd known her, so he didn't think it was a scar she was trying to hide. He'd hoped it was her words – his and _Bucky's_ words – but she didn't odder and he wouldn't ask.

"Jesus, Steve, what's takin' ya so long?"

Bucky had barged into the cramped bathroom, the easygoing grin on his face turning a bit more serious when he saw Steve staring at his words.

"Sorry – "

"You're thinkin' 'bout Darce, ain't ya?"

Steve jerked down his left sleeve, buttoning the cuff roughly as he avidly ignored the other man's question. Bucky's hands stopped his own and his body sagged in relief.

"She's comin' back, punk. Ya know she is." Bucky placed his hands on Steve's shoulders, looking down at the man in concern. "Is this 'bout your words?"

"Buck – "

"Dammit, punk! Stop thinkin' 'bout them. Darcy is _ours_. No words are gonna tell us that. Ours, hers, it doesn't matter anymore." The brunet made Steve look at him. He spoke surely and sincerely. "Our house in the country is waitin' for us, Stevie. We just gotta keep workin' 'til we have enough. Then all we're doin' is waitin' for our girl."

* * *

 _May 21, 1936 – St. Petersburg, Russia – The Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet_

"I feel fine, really."

Mrs. Riesa cocked an eyebrow at her in disbelief. "You've had migraines for few weeks now. Surely a quick exam before you travel would be of no consequence."

Darcy rubbed at her temple. A headache was forming between her eyes and she wanted to shake it away. She'd been working herself endlessly to have the routine for the show down and she did it without complaint. She'd went through three pairs of pointe shoes before she was completely satisfied that she could dance circles around any member of the cast at any given moment.

She knew the headaches were related to stress and would go away the moment she stepped foot in the United States. She'd be back in time to practice the show for almost a month before she had to perform and she was ready.

"Ms. Lewis – "

"Fine, fine." She waved her hand in compliance.

"It's a good thing I didn't wait for your approval then, no?" The tall woman smiled and turned towards the door of the classroom. " _Vrach, zakhodi._ "

Darcy turned and her eyes widened when she saw a short man enter the room with a briefcase. "Mr. Zola?"

A tip of his hat and a brief smirk caught her attention. " _Dr_. Zola, Ms. Lewis. Mrs. Riesa contacted my clinic on your behalf." He sat his briefcase on the floor and knelt in front of the straight back chair she was occupying. He leafed through some papers after he opened his case and clicked his tongue. "Experiencing migraines? How often?"

Darcy stiffened, making sure her knees were pressed together as tight as possible, cursing that she was only wearing a small leotard. "A few weeks, I think," she stumbled, acutely aware of his stethoscope against her ribcage. "They come and go, normally I can ignore it – "

"She's traveling to the States tomorrow, Doctor. I would prefer that she make it there safely."

Mr. Zola – _doctor_ , she reminded herself – listened intently for a few moments, moving the cold metal around. "She seems healthy. I can give her an…antibiotic shot to help keep her immunity up. Traveling can be nasty business."

"Antibiotic shot?" Darcy asked, her breath hitching slightly. Needles were not her friends. She loved shiny things, but drew the line at _sharp_ , shiny things.

He pulled out a long syringe with an even longer needle. "Just a precaution, I assure you."

"It's fine, Ms. Lewis," Mrs. Riesa said, placing a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder. "We don't want you getting sick."

The small brunette nodded and held out her arm, albeit with hesitation. The syringe was flicked a few times before he inserted it into the crook of her elbow. Her veins burnt as the strange liquid made its way through. A violent shudder tore through her small body and stopped when she snapped her jaw shut, her teeth making an audible clack.

"You'll be protected now, Ms. Lewis," Dr. Zola nodded, withdrawing the syringe and packing it away once more. "Have a very… _safe_ journey."

* * *

 **Be sure to leave a review!**

 **~Grace**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

 _May 23, 1936 – Brooklyn, New York_

The soft click of her heels made a sharp noise against the pavement. Her purse was slung over her shoulder, glad that she'd decided to leave her suitcase in her room in Russia, knowing that she had enough clothes stashed at Steve's house to get her by.

Darcy hadn't let her boys know that she was coming home. She didn't have a grand reveal planned or anything like that. She wasn't sure if she'd just show up at the market or the docks where she knew that Bucky had picked up extra work and Steve helped out occasionally. Maybe at Steve's house. Darcy wanted to surprise them, but she was exhausted.

Dawn was waking up the sleepy city of Brooklyn and she spotted a newsie on the corner that she used to sell her own papers at. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a quarter and handed it to the small boy. "One, please."

"Ya got it, ma'am," the boy said, taking the coin from her and handing her a paper. "So, ya get – "

"Keep the change, kid. Get yourself a candy bar or somethin'."

Seeing the joy on the boy's face made her wonder what her face had looked like when the man had told her the same thing so many years ago.

The paper made its way into her bag and she hurried to the 7th Street bakery for a bag of bagels and the largest cup of coffee that they had. It was obscene the way she moaned as she gulped down the scalding liquid, causing more than just a few glares from women outside the small bakery.

Her feet led her to the rundown neighborhood that Steve called home. It was late enough that Steve's ma would be awake and she knocked quietly on the door just in case. When the door swung open, she wasn't ready for the face-full of blonde hair she received, but she hugged the woman back tight.

"Oh, Darcy! You came home!"

She laughed. "Of course, Mrs. Rogers. I'm on break from school."

Mrs. Rogers pulled back, holding her by her shoulders and giving her a once over. "You look good. _Strong_. Are they working you too much?"

"No more than how the docks are workin' Bucky."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and shuffled the girl into the apartment, shutting the door behind her. Being fussed over was something that always made Darcy uncomfortable, but she dealt with it if it meant that Mrs. Rogers would be happy. She was a natural fusser – having to raise Steve was definitely the reason.

"The boys should be home soon. They're normally here for dinner. Did you let them know you're coming? Oh, I'd wager they're excited. Steve just goes on and on about how well you're doing. They love the postcards! They keep them tacked up in Steve's room for now. Well, _their_ room. Bucky's practically moved in! Has to get up so early for the work at the docks, poor dear."

It went on and on. Darcy gave small ' _oh's_ ' and ' _really's_ ' when Mrs. Rogers let her get a word in. Otherwise, she was content to just sit and listen to all the things she'd missed while she was gone. It was natural to putter around the kitchen and help with making dinner – _spaghetti, Bucky's favorite_ – and she relished in the attention. Cooking wasn't something she did a lot of in Russia.

"You always knew how to make the best garlic bread," Mrs. Rogers sighed, standing by the stove and smiling. "I can never make it like you and, believe me, the boys ask for it often."

A key in the lock drew both their attention and Darcy looked over her shoulder.

"C'mon, punk. Ya know ya've gotta carry that damned inhaler with ya when you're helpin' me."

Darcy spotted the inhaler on the counter and wordlessly got to her feet, picking it up. She handed it to Bucky and smiled.

"Thanks, Darce. Now, c'mon, Stevie." He held the inhaler up to Steve's mouth, and puffed twice. A frown appeared between his eyebrows and his head whipped back around. "Darcy?"

"Hiya, Buck – _ooh_!"

Her feet were out from under her and she was crushed against Bucky's chest, all the air was forced from her lungs as he held her as close as he could.

"Stop hoggin' her!"

Her mouth was too busy against Bucky's to breathe and he kissed her into a pile of goo. Hands were on her hips and she knew it was Steve and it felt like everything was finally right in the world once more. The ache she'd been feeling in Russia was finally soothed and she wanted nothing more than this moment to never end.

"Dinner's ready!"

* * *

Strong hands cradled her hip and she smiled into the kiss. They'd been at it for hours, but it didn't seem long enough, _real_ enough.

"I missed you, baby," Bucky said against the skin of her shoulder, causing her to arch her chest against Steve. "Been forever."

A breathless chuckle escaped her. "Forever? How are ya gonna live when I'm travelin' with the opera house?"

"Travelin'? Ya got it, honey?" Steve asked, pulling his lips back. A smile lit up her face when she nodded and she was sandwiched tightly between them in a hug. "I knew ya could do it."

"It's a five-year contract," she said quietly, feeling them tense on either side of her. "But – _listen Buck_ – I'd be established as a dancer. Prima Ballerina, Stevie! I can _retire_ after my contract's up. And then I can be at home with both of ya losers."

"Hey!"

"We may be losers, but we're _your_ losers, doll."

She smiled and wiggled onto her back between them. A pile of blankets on the floor had become their bed – _nest_ , Darcy had dubbed it – and she stared up at the dingy ceiling.

So much had happened in such a short time. The opera house wanting her had snuck up on her if she was being honest – although, she _knew_ that Dr. Zola had put in a good word – and being away from her boys for another five years…that was a hell of a long time.

"You know I love you both, right?" She asked quietly. It felt like it wasn't said enough sometimes. Like maybe they'd forget her when she was away.

A rough hand slid down her naked front, stopping right below her belly button, nearly spanning her hips.

"And we still love you," Bucky murmured, his lips finding her collarbone with ease. A tilt of her head and he was kissing the underside of her jaw reverently.

Steve kissed her temple, his left hand lying over Bucky's. "Five years, doll. And then we're draggin' ya home. We got plans, y'know."

"Plans?" She grinned, wiggling her hips a bit.

"A nice house," Bucky rasped, licking a stripe down her throat. "A few kids."

She giggled. "Ya just wanna knock me up, doncha?"

"Maybe a little."

"Seein' ya carryin' our babies? Fuck, Darce," Bucky shook his head and groaned low and long. "I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off o' ya. I'd protect ya no matter what."

Closing her eyes, she enjoyed their attention, still riding the orgasmic high that they'd lulled her into. Having a baby would be different, but they'd grow up with so much love. More than Darcy had.

"Five years." She sighed, a smile ghosting along her mouth. "Five years and we'll have all the babies ya both want. A houseful! It…it'll be everything I've ever wanted."

"Sure we can't convince ya to start tryin' for those babies?" Bucky wagged his eyebrows at her.

"Soon."

* * *

 _July 17, 1936 – Brooklyn, New York_

It came fast and without a lot of warning. One day Mrs. Rogers was fine and the next she was confined to the tuberculosis ward at the hospital. It was dismal for July, much hotter than they were used to, but the weather didn't have empathy.

 _"You have to look after him when I'm gone," Mrs. Rogers had said, reaching out to touch Darcy's cheek softly._

 _It was easy to determine that she was the only one allowed in the quarantined ward. She'd told Steve and Bucky about the antibiotic shot she'd received before leaving for home and, well, Steve couldn't afford to be exposed to the sickness and Bucky had needed to work at the docks, so she'd managed to strong-arm herself into Mrs. Rogers' room._

 _Darcy gripped the woman's hand tightly. "I promise. I…I'm gonna take care of him real good. I love him so much, Mrs. Rogers – "_

 _"Call me Sarah, Darcy," she smiled tiredly. "I think you've earned that right."_

 _She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks. "We haven't told anyone yet, but we're gonna get married. Gonna have a baby."_

 _Mrs. Rogers' eyes got big. "You're pregnant?"_

 _"Oh! No, not yet. After we get married. I just…I want you to know that I plan on stickin' around for a long time. Stevie…he's my guy. I'm gonna make him happy."_

 _"You're the daughter I never had. I want you all healthy and happy. That includes Bucky. Take care of them, Darcy."_

Darcy stood next to the empty bed with tears in her eyes. Mrs. Rogers was like a mother to her, a mother that always was there no matter what she needed. She was her _family_.

"Mrs. Rogers?"

Darcy looked up, realizing the doctor was speaking to her. Wiping away her tears, she nodded, "Yes?"

"How would you like to – "

"A Catholic burial, please. I…I contacted the church a few days ago. They'll come and pick her up."

* * *

Bucky was completely lost. The two most important people in his life were literally falling apart at the seams. Darcy was trying to help Steve, but they were both lost. Both hurting.

"Do ya…do ya want somethin' to eat?" He asked pitifully. He'd always been shit at taking care of people, but he figured that was a good enough place to start. The funeral was supposed to be tomorrow and he knew Darcy wasn't going to sleep, Steve either if he could help it.

"'m not hungry," she said softly, scrunching her knees tighter against her chest. She and Steve were both on the couch – albeit opposite sides – and Bucky sort of stood in front of the coffee table, not quite sure what to do.

"Darce – "

Brown curls tumbled around her face as she shook her head. Unfolding her limbs, she got to unsteady feet and shuffled her way into the small kitchen. Food was the last thing on her mind, but Bucky was right. And if she didn't eat, she'd at least make sure Steve did. Weight was something that he definitely didn't need to lose.

Watching Steve crumple to the ground when the doctor had told him that his last remaining parent had died was the most heartbroken scene she'd ever witnessed. Trying to comfort him had been harder. The blond had clung to her like she was the only thing in his universe, but it would never be enough. She couldn't fill that gap and she _knew_ that.

Peanut butter and jelly was the only thing that she could think to make. It was mindless and a chore that she'd completed a dozen times over. It didn't take any focus. And Darcy didn't really have any focus to spare.

Hands on her hips made her jump so hard that she dropped the knife on the counter with a clatter.

"Baby…"

"Don't, Buck," she whispered with a sigh. The third sandwich had found its way onto the plate she'd pulled out of the cabinet. "Are you hungry? Wanna sandwich?"

"Ya need to eat. And get some shuteye while ya still can."

Her hands shook before she steadied them by pressing them against the counter. "How am I s'posed to go back? You and Stevie…I can't leave you…"

Bucky settled his chin against her shoulder, his warm breath puffed against her cheek as he spoke low. "You're gonna go back to Russia and dance your heart out and then come back to me. To me and the punk."

"Honey?"

She turned and spotted Steve leaning raggedly against the doorframe. His eyes were red with grief and his cheeks wet with tears. It made her heartache. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took a few steps away from Bucky and held out her arms to him. "C'mere, Stevie."

Her arms were full of sobbing man before she could comprehend it. She struggled to keep him upright and was relieved when Bucky's arms wrapped around her to keep on her feet. The brunet was slowly ushering them into Steve's room and down into the nest just a few moments later.

Flat on her back with the weight of the world on her shoulders, surrounded by the men that meant everything to her. Steve's head was piled on her chest, his tears soaking through the shirt – Bucky's shirt – that she'd haphazardly pulled on that morning while Bucky was curled around right side

"I'm stayin'," she said resolutely. Her hand stroked his blond hair away from his face, wishing that she could take the pain from him.

Steve whined pitifully, shaking his head. "No, honey. I…I can do this. I can get by on my own – "

"The thing is, ya don't have to," Bucky sighed, his right hand squeezing the one that Steve had left on Darcy's hip. "We're with ya to the end of the line." His lips brushed Darcy's temple and she sighed happily. "But, you're gonna have to make due with me. 'Cause I'm not lettin' our girl give up her dream."

"Buck – "

"Ya know I'm right, baby. This is a once in a lifetime deal. I'll take care of the punk and you'll get your cute behind back here as soon as you're done," he nodded to himself.

The blond let out a broken laugh. "Jerk."

Darcy's eyes drifted closed in a cocoon of warmth. Whatever the next day would bring, they'd face it.

Together.

* * *

 _July 18, 1936_

"Sarah Rogers was a pillar of our community, a pillar that will be greatly missed."

She couldn't feel her hands between how tight her boys were holding them. The front row of the church was cleared out save for them, not that there were many people in attendance anyway. A few of Mrs. Rogers' friends from work, a couple neighbors, the Barnes. Father Maltin was doing a fine job of the service despite the turnout.

Darcy looked to the right and nudged Steve softly. "Did you want to say anythin'?"

"I don't think I can," he responded thickly, not bothering to try to keep his tears at bay. "Maybe Buck – "

"I'll say somethin'," she said softly, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. It was spur of the moment, but she'd had something planned at least. A little speech to let them know why there were here. What was missing now that Steve's ma was gone.

It was harder than she thought to disentangle herself from Steve and Bucky, nevermind walking up to where the priest politely relinquished his spot behind the altar. She was never happier that she'd chosen sensible flat shoes and a simple black dress, with her luck she would've tripped over anything fancier.

With a slight cough to clear her throat, she looked up at the small crowd, her lips a bit cracked from crying. "For those of you that don't know me, m' name's Darcy. I've known Mrs. Rogers for a while now. And…well, let me tell you, she was the kindest woman I've ever met." She paused and met Steve's blue gaze. "Without her, I never would o' graduated. She believed in me, sacrificed her time and sleep for me. I…I owe her quite a debt that can't ever be repaid now."

She sniffled and swept her fingers underneath her eyes. "If you all wouldn't mind, I'd like to sing a hymn for her."

Bucky was the first one to stand, gently tugging Steve up with him. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes followed and before she knew it, their heads were bowed save for Steve that had his eyes on her. She could feel the weight of his grief and she wanted to take it all from him, let him heal.

" _Some glad morning, when this life is o'er, I'll fly away_." Her voice was soft, but it seemed to carry in the church and she was grateful. " _To a home on God's celestial shore, I'll fly away_."

" _I'll fly away, oh glory, I'll fly away_ ," Bucky's voice joined her as she held back a gasp at how the bass in his voice complimented hers. " _When I die, hallelujah by and by, I'll fly away_."

Darcy smiled. " _When the shadows of this life have gone, I'll fly away. Like a bird from prison bars has flown, I'll fly away_."

" _I'll fly away, oh glory, I'll fly away. When I die, hallelujah by and by, I'll fly away_."

" _Just a few more weary days and then I'll fly away_ ," Darcy sang, her voice brimming with emotion. " _To a land where joy will never end. I'll fly away_."

* * *

 _August 7, 1936 – St. Petersburg, Russia_

Darcy hadn't wanted to come back. She would have much preferred to stay in Brooklyn, making a human pretzel out of herself with her boys in the… _sexcapades_ they'd been becoming quite efficient in.

Leaving had been difficult – difficult meaning practically downright impossible. If Bucky hadn't nearly pushed her on the plane, she'd still be at home. Still be wrapped up in their arms, safe and content.

But, nevertheless, she raised her arm above her head and sunk into a seamless pose as the other dancers around her followed her lead. Her pointe shoes did nothing to dull the ache in her toes, but she gritted through it, unwilling to show weakness. It was surprising to know that she had an understudy upon her return. A girl older than she was, with an unhealthy obsession with practicing.

So far, she'd written a single letter home, sending it in a kiss-covered envelope – she'd broken out the _expensive_ lipstick for that – and she hoped that her boys wouldn't be too embarrassed when it was delivered. She slept and danced. That was her life now. Well, temporarily. If temporarily was five years, that is.

It wasn't until she was sitting on the hard floor of the studio that she'd realized there had been more of an audience than she thought.

"How are your headaches, Miss Lewis?"

Darcy rewrapped the ribbons of her pointe shoes and gave Dr. Zola an uneasy smile. "I haven't had any. Thank you – "

"Not at all," he said, waving away her thanks. He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked her over curiously. "You might want to check that for a sprain. No use in working yourself so hard. A sprain is…bad for the show, no?"

"It's not a sprain," she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Just a little sore."

He nodded. "Come by my office when you have time. I'd like to look at it. I would hate for your show to be stalled by something that can be fixed."

* * *

 _August 11, 1936 – Brooklyn, New York – Rogers' Residence_

"I can't remember!"

Bucky groaned, smacking his forehead against the wood of the kitchen table. Turning his head, he saw Steve turning off the burner and plating up the eggs he'd scrambled.

"Well, how the heck am I s'posed to remember? It was…Lord, it was six years ago, Buck! Seven for you." Steve sighed, setting the plate on the table between them before taking a seat. " _I saw the light_ …I don't know."

 _Bucky knew better, but he didn't really want to think about the bad thing he was about to do. It went against everything they'd built up, all the trust._

 _They were nestled in the nest. Steve burrowed against Darcy's back while she was piled on his chest, her curls itching his nose. Her hand was plastered against his breastbone, the steel of her bracelet cold against his bare skin._

 _His fingers had reached out of their own accord – really, they_ did _– and he'd unclasped her bracelet with a flick of his wrist. Using the crack of early morning sunlight that filtered through the curtains, he read the words circled around her right wrist._

I saw the light.

 _What an odd thing for words to say. Oddly poetic and wholly something Bucky had never thought he'd said. Ever. Most likely something Steve hadn't said either._

 _Before he could think anymore about it, she shuffled in her sleep and he was quick to slide the bracelet back onto her wrist and click it shut._

"I shouldn't've looked," Bucky moped, staring at the eggs as if they'd personally offended him. "I broke her trust – "

"I don't like that ya looked, Buck, but it's good to know." Steve stuffed a forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "We really gotta remember. She said my words, Buck, and she said yours, too! Just gotta dig into out heads and see if we can remember."

* * *

 _August 21, 1936 – St. Petersburg, Russia_

Darcy stared up at the small building with trepidation. She hadn't wanted to get her ankle looked at, but Mrs. Riesa had insisted upon it. She insisted a lot, actually.

So, Darcy had made the small trek to the clinic, hoping to get it over with, with as little fanfare as possible.

"Darcy Lewis for Dr. Zola, please," she'd said to the slight receptionist behind the desk after she'd entered the office. The other woman merely blinked at her before holding her arm towards the open door to her left. Which, of course, Darcy scurried through without any hesitation.

A door at the end of the corridor was open and her small heels clicked against the linoleum as she made her way inside, hopping up on the metal table covered with a crinkly sheet.

Dr. Zola walked in barely a moment later with a clipboard in his hand. Beady eyes looked her over before he sat in the lonesome chair on the other side of the room. It was uncomfortable.

"How are you feeling Ms. Lewis?" He asked after a beat, his pen poised in his hand after he slid his glasses up his nose.

She nodded. "Fine. Mrs. Riesa wanted me to have my ankle looked at in a little more detail, I think – "

"Of course, of course." He waved away her explanations, focusing on his paperwork. "If you don't mind, I'd like to fill out your chart a bit more. Now," he clicked his tongue. "I see that you are an orphan, yes?"

She cringed. "Yes. I was adopted – "

"I see," he wrote a few things down and looked back up at her. "Any diseases that run in your biological family that you know of?"

"Uh, no – "

"Not an issue."

She squirmed. "So – "

"And in your application to the academy, it states you are…unattached?"

"Uh," she fidgeted. It wasn't true, but not _un_ true. "I have a fiancé back home."

Dr. Zola's eyes snapped to hers. "Ah, congratulations, then. I will add him to your file at the academy just in case. His name…"

"Barnes. James Barnes."

She wasn't sure why she'd given him Bucky's name, it just popped out. Maybe it was because she felt that Steve needed to be protected, especially after he lost his ma.

The rest of the exam consisted of him groping at her ankle in a clinical way. He'd taken her pulse, measured her blood pressure. All the normal stuff, she'd assumed. It wasn't until he retrieved another syringe, not unlike the one she'd been stuck with before she traveled home, that she began to worry her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Just a booster shot. Like the one I gave you before," he said, noticing her hesitation. "You'll be traveling a lot. No need to get sick."

She swallowed and nodded, extending her arm towards him expectantly. There was a sharp jab and a slight burn that extended through her arm and into her chest. She wheezed slightly, her vision blurring just a smidge when she tried to focus on the doctor.

"What…" Her voice was slurred, like she was drunk without a drink. Her head was full of cotton.

"Please relax, Ms. Lewis."

His voice echoed in her ears and her back hit the wall behind her as she slouched. Her eyelids were heavy and she struggled to keep them open.

"Allow the serum to work."

"S…se…serum?" It took what felt like an hour to get the word out in its entirety.

"Yes, Ms. Lewis. You're…going to be much different from here on out."

* * *

 _November 18, 1936 – Unknown Location_

"Hey! Let me outta here! You can't keep me here forever!"

The dull thud of her head hitting the metal door was the only thing she heard. She was beginning to lose track of the days. Sleeping didn't help, of course. Sometimes, she'd wake up to some bread and water, other times her stomach growled so loud that she wasn't sure she could focus on anything else.

The room was probably about eight by ten feet, every surface covered in metal. There was a small metal bench – enough to be big enough for Steve to sleep on, maybe – and she'd been provided with a threadbare blanket that reminded her of the ones from the orphanage. There were no windows, only a door that had a small slot that sometimes had a tray fitted through it for food. In the right corner was a small toilet, with running plumbing, thank the Lord, and a small vanity next to it sans mirror. It wasn't like she really wanted to see what she looked like anyway. She could feel the tangled mess her hair had become and no amount of finger combing would save it.

Sometimes, she woke up in a different place. She assumed the water was drugged – she wouldn't dare drink what came out of the tap, it was _brown_ – since large gaps of her memory was missing.

Often, she'd be strapped to a chair when she awoke, small jolts of electricity making their way into her skull. There would always be a blindfold over her eyes, something covering her ears. When she would try to scream, there would be something shoved in her mouth to muffle her cries. The crooks of her elbows were almost always sore. When she was in her room, she'd look them over, see the smattering of purple and black marks like she'd been injected with something.

When she was allowed to hear, she'd hear them say the same things over and over again between shocks. It was in a different language and she'd wanted to say it was Russian, but sometimes her brain was so scattered she wasn't sure.

 _Kamen_. _Sem'ya_. _Ogon_. _Chernila_. _Rassvet_. _Grom_. _Lenta_. _Shestnadtsat_. _Tsirk_. _Platit_.

It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.

There were good days and bad days, sometimes _worse_ days. Sometimes it felt like weeks had passed when she finally woke up again; the bruises would be gone, her hair would be brushed, the scabs on her temple had healed over. Little things that made it seem like she was losing her mind.

Maybe she was.

* * *

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 **~Grace**


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